#and she usually only carries it around when she's home/not on a mission

[inexplicably-spookified]

bea doodles

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Come Find Me | Bucky Barnes x Reader

I am back back back again! I have missed writing so much, I just don't have nearly the amount of time that I used to. But I'm in my last semester of school! So hopefully I'll be back on a consistent fanfic grind once I'm done :) PS: If you know what the title is referencing, you get a big hug from me.

Word Count: 13,439

Warnings: blood, talk of violence, reader injury

Bucky checked his texts every few minutes. Initially, he lied to himself about the reason behind it. He told himself he must’ve opened his conversation with you accidentally, or that he mistook an email notification for a text from you. Simple, innocent mistakes. 

Either way, he always ended up staring at your side of the conversation, hoping for a gray ellipsis to appear. 

But after a while, he could no longer deny the truth- and why would he want to? You were coming home. 

You hadn’t been gone long, and your mission was projected to be a cake walk. But he couldn’t help it; he missed you. He missed you when you went on missions, when you visited your parents out of state, when you slept in your room down the hall. Missing you was part of him now, woven into the fabric of his being. It matched the material of his soul perfectly, like he was always meant to feel this way.

He fired off a quick “let me know when you land” message and waited, hoping you’d write back soon. 

Usually, you texted him when you were headed back to the compound. It gave him a countdown to your return and something to look forward to. It also signaled to him that you were, in fact, coming home alive. Even if a bit banged up, you were well enough to shoot him a message. And that always eased his worries.

Today, however, was different. No text, no call.

It struck him as bizarre and sounded Bucky’s internal alarms. But he silenced them as best he could. He wasn’t going to let himself get worked up, not when you had a perfectly good reason for not messaging him.  

This was your first time leading a mission with a new recruit under your wing. Bucky knew you devoted your full attention to your trainee, giving him absolutely everything you had. You took this position- as well as your pupil’s safety and success- very seriously. He knew you were probably busy helping your recruit learn a swath of new things, and who was he to interrupt?

Bucky opened the log and saw your jet had been marked as ‘incoming’ only minutes ago. A sigh of relief left his chest and eased his muscles. Sure, he would’ve rather heard that information from you, but it didn’t matter. Your jet would be here soon; he had no reason to worry. 

The moment he saw that your jet was homeward bound, he lost the ability to think about anything else. He counted the minutes, the seconds. You had to be close, right? The log wouldn’t have said ‘Incoming’ if you were still hours away. 

To pass the time, he folded laundry, answered emails, reread a few chapters of The Hobbit- but he couldn’t focus. He thought of you, only you. And no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he couldn’t hang around his room any longer. He couldn’t stand it. He needed to be there when the jet landed. He needed to meet you on the steps of the aircraft and wrap you in a bear hug. 

And there was no real harm in waiting near the hangar, was there? ‘If anything,’ he told himself, ‘It’s actually more convenient for her if I meet her there. That way, I can carry her bag- she’s probably tired.’ 

Anything to rationalize his desperate need to be near you.

He knew in his heart of hearts that you didn’t need him to carry your bag or help you off the jet. But this lie was all the convincing he needed. Without hesitation, he ditched his room and set off down the hall, your impending homecoming pulling him forward. 

It was in that moment he noticed just how far the elevator was from his room. The walk seemed to stretch on and on, the hallway growing longer with each step. And how had he never noticed how slowly the elevator moved? It slid downward at a glacial pace, toying with his patience. For such an expensive, state of the art building, the elevator moved like an ancient piece of turn of the century machinery. Bucky cursed Tony’s engineering. 

Everything seemed to add time, multiplying his moments without you. The universe liked toying with him, teasing him. And this was just another cruel joke. 

The moment the doors opened, Bucky sprang free out into the hallway. He knocked into Clint and his group of trainees and called an apology over his shoulder without stopping. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t waste time- not when you could arrive at any moment. 

His field of view narrowed into tunnel vision, only allowing for visualization of the path toward the hangar. He didn’t greet his fellow team members or allow for distraction. You were his one-track mind. That is, until something stopped him. 

“Shit, sorry, man,” your trainee, Jake, laughed as he bumped into Bucky. He took a step to the side and attempted to continue down the hall, but Bucky blocked his path. 

“Jake?” Bucky eyed a bloody gash on Jake’s eyebrow, “when did you guys get back?”

Jake gave a casual shrug and checked his phone, “I don’t know, five minutes ago?”

“Oh, okay…” Bucky reached for his phone, but found his screen void of notifications. If you landed five minutes ago with your trainee safe and sound, why didn’t you send him a message? It was out of character for you. 

“Well, where’s your partner in crime? Or crime fighting, I guess,” Bucky tried to joke, but his tone was strained. He eyed each person who came around the corner, hoping to find your face. “Did you see which way she went?”

“Nah, she’s not here,” Jake was scrolling through Instagram, only half paying attention.

Bucky’s disappointed sigh left his chest deflated, empty. “Oh, did she say where she was going? Or when she’d be back?”

Jake pulled his focus from his phone and stared at Bucky with confusion on his face. His brows pulled together, his mouth hung slightly ajar. But finally, he made sense of Bucky’s words. “OHHH, okay, my bad- I think there was a miscommunication just now.”

Bucky sighed again- this time, with relief. 

“Yeah, no, she’s not here,” Jake continued, “because she didn’t make it back.”

Bucky’s ears started ringing. 

The sharp, piercing sound blocked out voices. Footsteps on the tile. Maybe Jake was trying to speak to him, but Bucky heard only the shrill sound of shock. Seconds later, his nerves fell numb. The utter absence of sensation disconnected him from his body. He was lost in a liminal atmosphere with no stability, no purchase. His entire being was shutting down, one sense at a time.

Bucky told himself to focus, to compute what he’d heard. He did his best to make sense of Jake’s words, but to no avail. His mind simply couldn’t understand the phrase “she didn’t make it back”. The words had shed their meaning entirely and sounded foreign to Bucky as they rattled around his skull. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin, and a cold sweat created a sheen across his face. He feared he might get sick. 

“I- I’m sorry,” he forced himself back into his body, back to the present. “I don’t think I understand.” 

“Things got pretty hairy- this was not the easy mission they said it would be,” Jake scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not fair, I definitely got a way harder assignment for my first mission than all the other new agents, and I think it’s-” 

Bucky’s glare could’ve sliced Jake in half, “get to the point.”  

“Right, um,” Jake continued, “I told her over comms that I was leaving. I gave her plenty of time to meet me at the jet, but she didn’t answer. And she never came outside.” He shrugged, “I had to leave for my own safety.”

“So, you just-” Bucky felt himself losing his grip. “You left her there? Alone?” He didn’t realize he was shouting, didn’t realize he’d drawn attention to himself- until Agent Hill showed up.

She placed a light hand on Bucky’s tense shoulder, but instantly withdrew. He was shaking, practically vibrating under her palm. “Is there a problem here, guys? I don’t want-”

“He left her behind,” was all Bucky could manage.

Maria stared at Jake in disbelief, “you did what?”

A strange mixture of rage and heartbreak seethed behind Bucky’s eyes, “You don’t just abandon your partner-”

Jake’s attitude disgusted Bucky. He was detached, irritated. He rolled his eyes like an insolent child. “Relax, man. Jesus Christ, this isn’t the army. I didn’t promise to ‘leave no man behind’ or whatever-”

Bucky had heard enough. He lifted jake by the collar of his shirt, twisting the material in his metal fist. Jake’s head sent a sickening thud resounding through the space as Bucky forced him against the nearest wall.

“What the fuck?” Jake squirmed in Bucky’s grasp, “There are casualties in the field all the time, why am I being punished for-”

Bucky released Jake at once, sending him crashing to the floor. 

His voice was quiet, hollow. “Casualties?” He swallowed hard, “Is she-”

Jake shrugged at he rubbed at the bruise forming on his neck. “I don’t know, I assume so. I didn’t stick around to find out.” 

And just like that, Bucky was gone. 

He took off down the hall, forcing himself forward as a soul-crushing panic swallowed him whole. No matter how many times he blinked, no matter how fervently he shook his head, he couldn’t rid his mind of the picture Jake painted for him. Each time he shut his eyes he saw you- alone. Your bloodied, broken body laying collapsed against a wall of a Hydra base. Your skin slick with blood. Your skin cold. Void of life. 

He moved quickly, but not quick enough. He simply couldn’t outrun the familiar feeling closing in on him. His heavy, well-worn cloak of grief wound its way across his shoulders and twisted itself around his neck. He knew the suffocating sensation all too well. It weighed him down but couldn’t dampen his pace, nothing could; not when your life hung in the balance. 

He was too well acquainted with loss by now, too familiar with mourning. There’d been a time when he wondered if he’d ever grieve again. He’d lost his family, his friends, himself- what else was there? What more could he possibly lose? But the moment he met you, he knew he’d one day mourn again. He just didn’t realize that time would come so soon. 

A startling cold prickled at his skin, his lungs refused to inflate. How much time did you have left? How long would it take him to get to you? Were you even-

Hill’s voice yanked him out of his spiral, “Barnes, hey-” She made a grab at his shoulder, but her feeble attempt was no match for Bucky’s pace. “Where are you going?”

“To get her back.” Bucky’s tone was firm, resolute. He was going to bring you home or die trying.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hill nearly tripped over her own feet as she tried to keep up with Bucky’s long strides. “You heard what Jake said, it’s a dangerous location- more dangerous than we thought. I think it might be best to wait it out for a few days, let things calm down and then-”

Bucky turned suddenly, stopping Maria in her tracks. “I’m not just going to leave her there.”

Maria shrunk away from the fierceness in his eyes, “I know you’re upset, but she might not be-”

“I don’t care.” His gruff tone dissolved, making way for the fear he’d so desperately tried to hide. “Whether she’s alive or-” he couldn’t bring himself to voice the alternative. 

Bucky knew what it was like to be assumed dead. He knew what it was like to be left in the field. 

“She deserves to come home,” he said.

Maria couldn’t argue with him. 

“Round up as many members of the med team as you can and have them meet me in the hangar. We’re leaving in ten minutes- sooner if we can.” Bucky turned and resumed his previous path, “I’ll be in the armory.”

Bucky grabbed as much weaponry as his duffel would carry without splitting at the seams and made his way to the hangar. He hoped to find ten, maybe fifteen members of the medical team waiting for him on the jet. He wasn’t sure of your condition, didn’t know how many breaths you had left. He wanted to give you the best possible chance at surviving the onslaught you endured. 

But when he turned the corner into the hangar, he found only three scrub-clad bodies. 

“Is this it?” Bucky boarded the jet and dropped his bag to the floor. He eyed the scant amount of medical support, their uncertain expressions. His hopes of bringing you home alive dwindled.

A nurse who’d stitched Bucky up more times than he could count gave him a nervous smile. “The med bay is swamped, the team could barely afford to let us come with you.” 

Bucky didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want excuses or rationalizations. All he wanted was to bring you home with your heart still beating. And three medical professionals, he decided, was better than none. 

The flight to your location only gave Bucky more time to worry. He obsessively checked his weaponry, hovered over the med team’s supplies. But no amount of double and triple checking could save him from the spiral. He traveled down the path of every possible “what if?”, leading him only to heartache. No matter where he searched, he couldn’t find a positive outcome. And though he didn’t want to acknowledge the odds, he knew yours were slim- impossible, even. 

And as the jet grew closer to your location, Bucky steeled himself for what he knew he’d find: you, his best friend, his reason for living, his everything- dead. Cold. Lifeless. None of the horrors he faced in the past could compare; no pain could ever be greater. Bucky knew he’d hurt for the rest of his life.

The clouds parted as the jet began its descent. Slowly, a large stone building appeared out of the fog like a monster in the horror movies you loved so much. It stood in an otherwise empty clearing, its shadow looming over the dying grass. Smoke billowed from holes in the roof, the walls. Whatever happened here was catastrophic. Disastrous. 

Bucky’s heart sat lodged in his throat as he imagined you trapped in there. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin as he stared at the looming structure. He had to get you out, even if he died trying.

Just before the jet touched down, an idea popped into Bucky’s head. It scaled the high walls he’d tried to erect to protect himself from thoughts of your demise and grabbed him by the throat. It was smart- brilliant, actually. He was shocked he could even think straight given the circumstances.

“FRIDAY,” Bucky called out, “is comm 1209 working?” He shoved his own comm in his ear and waited for a response. 

“Comm 1209 is on and in range,” Friday said. “Would you like me to connect you?”

He couldn’t say yes fast enough.

A few staticky clicks and pops vibrated against Bucky’s eardrum as his comm connected to yours. But he was too scared to speak. What if you didn’t answer? What if he heard you take your dying breaths? Just the thought was enough to make him sick.

He owed it to you, though, to at least try. He’d always said he’d do anything for you, that he’d risk it all for you- and he meant it every time. If reaching out to you over comms exposed him to something horrible, something traumatic and unforgettable, at least he tried. At least he attempted to keep his promise. And after everything he’d been through, what was one more life-shattering, soul-crushing nightmare?

“H- um…” Bucky swallowed the large lump obstructing his throat. “Hello?” He waited a moment, holding his breath the entire time, and tried again. “Hello?”

He waited. 

No response.

“Doll? It’s me. It’s Bucky…” 

The dead silence on the other end of the line dragged on. It seemed like his words disappeared into the air, unacknowledged. Unheard. Maybe the sound of his voice was reverberating inside your ear as you lay dying. Or maybe he was talking to your corpse.

 The thought made him nauseous.

“Please, sweetheart. If you’re there- if you’re able- just say one word. Say anything,” he pled. A long bout of silence followed.

He clenched and released his metal fist again and again, desperate to rid himself of the panic settling into his bones. He was stupid to think you survived, stupid to let himself be optimistic. He made it here as quickly as he could, but he couldn’t save you. He was too late. 

He wanted to take one of his many weapons and turn it on himself. 

But a small sound stopped him.

“Buck…”

He almost fell to his knees. At the sound of your voice, an overwhelming warmth banished the cold that infiltrated his bones. Against all odds, you were alive.

A deep sigh of relief seeped from Bucky’s lungs, “Sweetheart…” 

A hurricane of emotion rattled against the storm doors inside Bucky’s mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ‘almosts’. How he almost lost you, how you almost died alone in a Hydra base. But he couldn’t allow it to swallow him- not yet. There was no time for a breakdown. He needed to move, he needed to get to you. 

He shrugged off the grief that rested heavy on his shoulders and swallowed the impending sob that vibrated inside his throat. “I’m here- I’m gonna come get you. Just tell me where-”

A staunch refusal came from your end of the comm, “No- no…” You took a sharp, rattling breath, “no way.”

Bucky didn’t like the way you had to fight to get your words out. You were clearly struggling, doing everything in your power to stay on this side of consciousness. He wondered how much time you had left.

But still, there was a familiar strength to your voice. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the renewed hope of rescue; something was keeping you alive. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just tell me where you are. The jet just landed. I’m gonna get you out and-”

“I said- I said no,” you breathed. “You can’t c-come in here, it’s too dangerous… we were a-ambushed.”

Even in your condition, even when Bucky was your only hope of rescue, his safety was your first thought. You’d rather die alone than put Bucky’s life at risk; the thought made his cheeks pink and filled his chest with a fuzzy warmth. But he didn’t have time to enjoy the feeling.

“If you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll just sweep the whole building,” Bucky said, using your worry against you. “That means more opportunities for me to run into Hydra operatives. More time inside the base- it’ll be way more dangerous.” He could practically see you rolling your eyes, “so it’s probably better if you just give me a direct route, don’t you think?”

Bucky smiled to himself as he envisioned you on the other end. He was certain you were arguing with yourself, cursing his rationale. 

He waited for you to come at him with a sharp retort or a sarcastic quip but heard nothing. The silence on your end of the line dragged on. And on. It lasted far too long for Bucky’s comfort. Surely, you couldn’t still be thinking about his proposition? He’d given you more than enough time to make up your mind, more than enough time to come up with a response. It was time you didn’t have. 

What if you’d fallen unconscious? What if, in those quiet moments, your soul vacated this earth?

Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He disembarked the jet, resolving to search every inch of the base. But just as he reached the dark, unsettling building, you spoke.

“F-fifteenth floor. Northeast… northeast quadrant,” you sighed, defeated. “There’s a- a room at the end of this hall, I think it’s maybe an office?” Again, you took a long pause. The energy required to think, to speak, was energy you didn’t have. “Just f-follow the trail of blood.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. He shuddered at the thought of your blood leaving a path down the stark white, sterile hallways of the base. But he didn’t have time to focus on anything other than getting you out; this was a rescue. He owed it to you to keep his head level. To focus on getting you out as quickly as he could. 

“The power is… it’s out”, you said. “You’re gonna h-have to take-” 

Bucky wanted to save you from wasting any extra energy, “The stairs. Got it.” 

And while he normally didn’t mind getting a few extra steps in, he knew the time required to climb fifteen flights of stairs would push the limits of your survival. 

But he pushed the ever-encroaching sense of doom to the side and put on a brave face for you. For himself. “Okay, I’m coming to get you,” he promised. “Stay awake, and don’t move.”

“As if I h-have a choice,” you laughed a breathy, hollow laugh. A long groan followed. 

Your pain radiated through Bucky’s chest. He didn’t want to climb stairs or scour hallways- he just wanted to be there. To instantly materialize at your side. To bring you instantaneous comfort. He lamented the super soldier serum’s lack of teleportation abilities. 

“You know what I mean, doll. Just stay awake, okay?” Bucky drew his gun and stepped inside the building. “Don’t fall asleep. Do anything you have to do- just stay awake. Can you keep talking until I get there?”

“W-what am I…” You let out a raspy exhale, “supposed to talk about?”

Bucky cleared a long hallway and found the stairwell, “Anything, just keep talking.”

Another extended silence filled the air; it nearly drove Bucky crazy. Your silences held limitless possibilities, horrifying ‘what ifs’.

“It w-wasn’t supposed to be… to be like this,” you finally said. “It wasn’t supposed to be this dangerous. This was Jake’s first mission- it wasn’t f-fair to him.” Heartache coated your every word. Even after your partner abandoned you, even after Jake forced you to suffer and bleed all alone- you still sympathized with him. Still felt sorry for him. 

Bucky felt no such thing.

“I know, doll. Keep talking, okay?”

You sighed. “We s-split up for recon… that’s when they- when they came at me.” Your next few breaths were so shallow, your lungs barely inflated; the lack of oxygen left you dizzy. A thin veil of glittering spots sparkled and danced on the edges of your periphery. “It all h-happened so fast… there were so many of them. I just- I remember pain. And I hoped Jake was okay, w-wherever he was.”

Your heart was too good for this job. For people like Jake. Bucky admired your kindness, your empathy, your selfless nature. Even in the face of pain, of death- you thought about others. You often told Bucky how unfair life had been to him, lamenting his treatment at the hands of fate. Bucky found himself doing the same for you and your kind heart.

“I called out for h-him, I needed backup… I kept asking him to come help me-” A sharp cough rattled out of your throat. 

Bucky cringed at the sound. It was the only sound in the building. He hadn’t heard anyone else. Hadn’t seen one Hydra operative- at least, not a live one. He came across their bodies every now and again but didn’t see a single living soul. He was sure they deserted after the explosion. Just like Jake. 

The destruction, however, was everywhere. Bullet casings littered the floor. Blood stained the tile floors. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. He had to get you out of here.

“But he n-never answered. And then he told me he was leaving. He said he was- he was outside already. He gave me n-ninety seconds to meet him at the jet…” Your words were tinged with devastation, with hopelessness, with betrayal. “I tried- I did my best to make it down the stairs. But I was- I was dizzy… I was b-bleeding.” The memory stung like your fresh wounds. “I kept slipping on- on my own blood. I just c-couldn’t move fast enough. It hurt too much.”

Wrath burned inside Bucky like a raging forest fire. But his utter heartbreak doused it completely, extinguishing the rageful flames. He found himself unable to think, to breathe. It took everything in him to keep moving forward. Who could ever leave you behind like that? Who could ignore your suffering and sentence you to death without a second thought? The image of you stumbling, struggling to run for your life gutted him.

“And then- and then I heard the jet t-take off,” you sighed. “And I listened as it got farther and farther away… until it was g-gone. And I was- I was alone.”

He thought of you sitting alone in cold silence as the noise from the jet quieted. As your hope dwindled. The entire base must’ve felt like a tomb, like a massive, lonely grave meant just for you. 

Bucky almost fell to his knees. Sobs throttled the inside of his chest, begging for release. Tears burned inside his lash line. Jake didn’t just leave you behind, he marooned you without care. And in his departure, he sealed your fate. 

“I d-didn’t have a way to call for… for help. My phone was on the j-jet with jake.”

The sorrow that stained your words was all too familiar to Bucky. It was the same hopelessness that accompanied him every day that he was at Hydra. When he laid in the snow for hours upon hours after falling from the train. He never wished that kind of despondency, that kind of  misery on anyone. And knowing that you, the person who deserved it the least, experienced it for even a moment shattered him.

“I realized I… I didn’t h-have any options,” you breathed. 

A collapsed column blocked Bucky’s path as he tried to make his way from the sixth floor to the seventh. The concrete was too high, too precarious to scale. If he tried to climb it and got hurt, it would only serve to diminish your chances of survival. And he wasn’t willing to risk that. With a huff, Bucky exited the northwest stairwell in search of another route. This was a waste of time- time you didn’t have. 

He painstakingly checked every hall until he finally found another stairwell. His breathing came a little easier as he rocketed his way up the stairs, growing ever closer to you.

“So, I found this- this room. It’s quiet. It’s out of the w-way. I needed somewhere to hide. S-somewhere to…” A small crack of emotion cut through your voice, “somewhere to die.”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Jake got to return home safe and sound while you struggled to stay alive. It wasn’t fair that you had to seek out your own deathbed. Bucky wanted to scream, to break things, to spill every last drop of Jake’s blood. But he was a soldier, and this was a rescue mission.

“This seemed like as g-good a place as any,” you choked on a weak laugh. “Beats dying in the middle of a h-hallway, I guess.”

Bucky’s automatic response was to swear that you’d make it out. To promise that you weren’t going to die. But he bit his tongue. He couldn’t make those kinds of assurances. He’d do anything to bring you comfort but swearing that you’d return home alive seemed almost cruel. 

He pushed himself to move faster. He couldn’t let you die alone, especially not in this godforsaken place. As he sprinted up the last flight of stairs and ripped open the door to the fifteenth floor, he struggled to orient himself. You were in the northeast quadrant, but where was he? He searched for anything to indicate his location- but found no signage. No directory. 

Everything inside of him rattled with dread, with anxiety. Any moment now, you were going to die. You were going to take your last breath. All alone. A thick, suffocating wave of panic crashed over Bucky as he realized- you were going to die disappointed. You were going to leave this world knowing that he hadn’t gotten to you in time.

It was then that he noticed a faded arrow painted on the wall, with “NEQ” painted below it in block letters. Northeast quadrant. He was closer than he thought.

“I’m gonna be there in just a second, doll,” he said as he followed the arrows.  “I think I’m right around the corner.” 

This was just his way of making you feel better, you were sure of it. The hallways were long and winding. Each floor was a maze of its own. Even with your vague instructions, it could take him a while to find you. Still, Bucky’s words brought you comfort in the way that only he could.

“I know, I t-trust…” A metallic taste filled your mouth. A warm ooze trickled down your chin and dripped onto your chest. The warm, fuzzy feeling brought on by Bucky’s assurances faded. Of course, you knew you were in bad shape. But as blood leaked from your mouth, you wondered if these were your last moments.

Instantly, you searched for the words to say goodbye to Bucky. Time was slipping through your fingers, life draining from your body with each passing second. But before you drifted off into a never-ending sleep, you had to tell Bucky what he meant to you. You’d use all your strength, your last few breaths- whatever it took. He just had to know. 

But how does one say goodbye to a soulmate? You didn’t have the energy or capacity to make a grandiose speech. And the blood filling your mouth impeded your ability to speak. You wanted to tell bucky everything- how he comforted you, cared for you, made your life worth living. How your life revolved around him as though he were your personal sun. But nothing quite encapsulated the things you felt for him. Every word in the English language, every sonnet fell short. And the lack of oxygen getting to your brain sabotaged your phrasing.

“Buck, I think it’s… I think it’s almost t-time,” you rasped.

But just as you opened your blood-stained mouth to proclaim every feeling you ever had for him, the door flew open. Alarm coursed through your veins at the threat. Surely, a Hydra agent had stumbled upon your hiding place and was here to finish you off. The severe blood loss was no match for your training, thought. And, on instinct, you pulled your gun on the tall, dark silhouette standing in the doorway.

“Woah, hey!” Bucky raised his hands in surrender. “It’s me, it’s just me.”

At the sound of his voice, your arm fell limp. Your gun clattered to the floor. Your head lolled back against the wall. It had taken everything in you to try and protect yourself one last time. And now that your energy reserves were nearly depleted, you allowed your eyes to close.

“S-sorry…” A barely-there smile pulled at your lips. “My… my bad, Buck.”

“No, don’t be sorry, doll.” 

Bucky knelt in front of you, taking in your broken, bloodied body. He’d seen carnage before, witnessed more death than anyone should. But this, you- it was different. It hurt in places he didn’t know he had. But he didn’t let it show. Knowing you, you’d spend your last few moments comforting him, trying to make him feel better. And so, he forced a warm smile and tabled his breakdown for the moment.

“I’m actually impressed. I mean, you might be hurt, but you were ready to take me out just now,” he forced a chuckle. “That’s my girl.” His cool metallic hand brushed against your blood-stained cheek. 

And in that moment, something within you changed. Your eyes shot open. You blinked a few times before forcing your eyes shut once again. You gave your head a few good shakes. Surely, this wasn’t real- it couldn’t be. 

You opened your eyes wide once again, taking him in. “Bucky?”

With one shaking hand, you reached for him in the most pathetic attempt he’d ever seen. You were weak, dangerously so; it scared him to his core. But you were alive. 

He leaned in, meeting you in the middle, and let you stroke at his stubble for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he kissed your palm. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“You’re…” you other hand reached for him, but made it only a centimeter or two before falling into your lap. Bucky opted to take it in his. “You’re here?”

He nodded, “I could never leave you behind, sweetheart.”

He may have continued speaking after that, but you didn’t quite hear him. The emotion you’d tried so hard to swallow came bursting forward, crushing your every attempt at remaining levelheaded. Your fingers smoothed over Bucky’s cheek again and again. His name fell from your lips in what resembled a prayer. Tears rolled down your cheeks and mixed with the blood crusting over your skin. 

A soft, warm wave of peace rolled in, covering you like a well-loved quilt. The pain disappeared; the sorrow evaporated. All that remained was Bucky. This was the warm spring that followed a dark, bitter winter. The first rays of sun after a vicious storm. The first taste of home after a long time away. You let the familiar warmth of Bucky’s presence drown out the rest of the world until only you two remained.

“Sweetheart, did you hear me?” With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Bucky called you back to the present. “I need to look at your wound, okay?”

A sharp rush of pain nearly blinded you as you lifted your shirt, exposing the bloody mess. But even as Bucky appraised the gunshot wound that turned your abdomen into horror scene, you couldn’t find it in you to worry. Your hands lazily found his shoulder, his chest, his face; you just wanted to touch him. To know, without a doubt, that he was there. That he was real.

“Hey, we… we need to t-talk,” you whispered as Bucky did his best to quickly bandage your wound for transport. “I n-need to talk- to talk to you…”

Bucky nodded, “sure thing, doll. Absolutely. We can talk about whatever you want. But right now…” he returned your shirt to its rightful position and met your gaze. “Right now, I need to get you out to the jet, okay? We can talk later.”

He guided your arms around his neck, lifted you into his arms, and moved as fast as he could through the winding hallways. His quick gait set your nerves alight with pain. Every bump, every jostle had you gasping for breath. And though it was a necessary evil, the guilt still sat in Bucky’s stomach like a rock. His repeated ‘I’m sorrys’ were nearly constant, doubling with your every grimace and groan. But he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t let the time slip away; you didn’t have much left.

Between pained sounds and twisted expressions of discomfort, you said the same thing on a loop. Again and again and again, you pled with him, using energy you didn’t have. 

“We need to… to t-talk.”

“I h-have to tell you.”

“Can I talk to y-you about- about something?”

And though Bucky would’ve loved nothing more than to have a long heart to heart with you as you two often did, you weren’t strong enough. He couldn’t let you waste your finite energy on a conversation with him. And so, he responded to each of your requests with an ask of his own, begging you to save your strength. He promised that the two of you could talk tomorrow, that there was plenty of time for a conversation later. 

But ‘plenty of time’ almost seemed like an empty promise. And ‘tomorrow’ felt like a lie. Would you have a ‘later’? He didn’t know. But he didn’t want you wasting your oxygen, not when he feared it might be your last breath.

Boarding the jet with you alive in his arms almost felt like a win to Bucky. Almost. Sure, he’d gotten you out with your heart still beating, but your condition worsened by the second. And the grave looks the med team wore as Bucky gently rested you on the treatment table dug a deep pit in his stomach. 

They sprang into action, placing IVs and delivering medications. Scissors glided through your shirt and exposed your broken body to the med team. Bucky knew they’d seen their share of gnarly injuries over the years, but he swore that they recoiled at the sight of your wounds. 

With a shake of his head, Bucky refocused. He had to get you out of there- to get you home. He headed for the controls and planned to set the jet in motion. But he made it only a step toward the cockpit before a hand caught his.

“S-stay…” you whispered. “Please.”

His heart shattered. “I’m not leaving you, doll, I promise. I just have to get us in the air, okay?” With great care, he placed a kiss to your hand and set it at your side. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Bucky’s body operated on muscle memory alone as he initiated take off. His mind was occupied, completely and totally, by the sound of your weak voice begging him not to leave. The sound played on a loop inside his brain, cutting him deeper each time. You’d already been abandoned once today; he was certain you feared it would happen again. 

With a deep breath and a quick reset, Bucky did what he had to do. He needed to be on his A-game for you, needed to be his very best. Only a few hours ago, you’d trusted someone with your life, and they failed you. Bucky wasn’t about to do the same. He worked carefully to chart the fastest route back to the compound, opting to forego FRIDAY’s proposed path. It kept him from your side longer than he would’ve liked, but less time in the air seemed like the best option. The sooner he could get you to the med bay, with its massive, brilliant medical staff and unlimited resources, the better. 

Just as he finalized the flight plan and asked FRIDAY to notify the med bay of your impending arrival, an unsettling sound pulled his focus. It was an ominous beeping, alarming your care team of a sudden, life-threatening change. 

Gloved hands moved at lightning speed; voices yelled medical jargon back and forth. And you laid there on the table. No heartbeat. No respirations. Deathly still. 

Bucky stood on the periphery, too horrified to get any closer. 

He thought it best, of course, to stay out the med team’s way. But knew deep down it was an excuse. He was simply too terrified to lose you. If he got closer, if he saw you struggling to stay alive, all of this would suddenly become real. And he couldn’t handle that. 

“Barnes!” A nurse screamed at him, “did you hear me?”

Bucky forced himself back to the present. “No… I, um-”

“She has no pulse- get over here, we need you to do compressions!”

Bucky’s desperate need to help you, to save you, overpowered his fear. And in an instant, he was at your side. He loomed over you, his hands locked together, preparing to help resuscitate you. But once again, his fear reared its ugly head. You were already so badly injured, so weak. And he was far too strong. What if he made your condition worse? What if he-

“Come on!” The nurse yelled at him, “start compressions- now!”

He did as he was told. He pressed into your body with a measured pressure, careful not to crush your chest. But his cautious compressions didn’t cut it. The nurses instructed him to push harder. To “actually compress” your chest- and Bucky followed instructions. 

But as he did so, a sickly snapping sound exploded from your body. Bucky recoiled instantly; his face contorted in horror.

“What are you doing? Keep going!”

“I can’t- I think I broke her ribs,” Bucky shouted at the doctor. “What do I do?”

“Keep going!” The nurse yelled, “It happens- just keep going.”

Bucky broke out into a cold sweat. His stomach turned at the thought of hurting you, of causing you even more pain; you’d been through enough as it was. But he did as he was told. With each round of compressions, he swore he created new fractures. He felt every splinter, every crack as he put pressure on your chest. 

He wanted to sever every last nerve-ending in his hand; anything to rid him of the sickening sensation creeping through his palm. But if doing this saved you, it was worth the nightmares.

He watched as the two nurses provided your supplemental breaths and tended to your endlessly bleeding wound. The doctor called ‘clear’ every so often, shocking you with a defibrillator in an attempt to restore your heartbeat.

Round after round of compressions, breathing, and shocks passed by without signs of improvement. You remained lifeless, unresponsive. A syringe of epinephrine delivered straight to your chest did nothing. And Bucky felt what little hope he had slipping through the cracks in your ribs. He couldn’t believe he was about to lose you; couldn’t believe he’d have to watch you die. Hot tears blurred his vision and streaked down his cheeks. His legs went numb. At any second, he knew his knees would give out, knew he’d crumble to the floor under the crushing weight of grief.

The doctor deemed the next shock your last, and Bucky almost doubled over. 

“Come on, doll, just-” He swallowed a sob, “just stay. Stay. Do it for me, I’m begging you. Please?”

The doctor called one last “clear” and delivered your final shock, only to be met with the rhythmic beeping of your heart monitor.

“Sinus rhythm restored,” announced the nurse to Bucky’s left. She appraised the waves on your EKG and gave a nod. “She’s stable.”

After what felt like an eternity, Bucky took a breath. He stretched his tense fingers and did his best to  relax the rock-hard knots forming in his shoulders. A new crop of hope bloomed cautiously inside his chest, but he couldn’t allow it to blossom and flourish just yet. You weren’t out of the woods; there was a very real possibility that your heart might stop again. And he wasn’t sure how many times the doctor could revive you before throwing in the towel.

Less than a minute after Bucky’s cautious optimism sprouted anew, a soul crushing sight dashed it completely. A sharp gasp filled his lungs, a shudder rocked his frame. Shades of deep, dark blue bloomed under the skin of your chest. Black and purple splotches stained your sternum. Some spots were already starting to swell. He extended a hand in your direction but recoiled in an instant, fearing he’d hurt you yet again. 

“Happens all the time,” one of the nurses said with a shrug. “Believe me, broken ribs are the least of her worries.”

Somehow, her words didn’t make him feel any better. He ached to hold your hand, to sweep a gentle caress across your cheek. But he didn’t dare touch you after what he did. Every glimpse of your bruised, swollen chest sent bile rushing into his throat. 

The three dedicated members of the med team worked tirelessly for the rest of the flight. They did everything in their power to keep your condition steady, to maintain the life they worked so hard to save. It brought Bucky comfort to see them staying so close, ready to jump into action if need be.  

Bucky, like the med team, hovered. He couldn’t bring himself to leave your side. You seemed too fragile, your condition too tenuous. He counted your every breath, took stock of every beat of your heart on the monitor. Stepping away for even a second felt wrong. He needed to be there if you crashed again, if the doctor needed extra hands. He needed to be there to help.

And if you woke up, he wanted to be the first face you saw. 

But you didn’t wake. A groan here, a muscle twitch there- that was all you could spare. And though Bucky wanted nothing more than to see you open your eyes, he thanked the universe for keeping you unconscious. He knew tsunamis of pain rippled in the wings, waiting to overtake you the second you woke.

Bucky held his breath as the jet landed. Every jarring bump, every vibration, forced his heart into his throat. He feared that even the slightest impact would send you into cardiac arrest. He flicked his eyes from the rising and falling of your chest to the rhythmic flashing of your heart monitor and back again. Nothing changed, no alarms sounded. And when the jet finally stilled, Bucky breathed a deep sigh of relief. He just needed to get you to the med bay for treatment, and this whole nightmare would be over. 

He didn’t like being optimistic. It felt like a set-up, like false hope. If he told himself you’d survive and you didn’t, the fall would be that much harder, that much more devastating. 

But being realistic wasn’t any better. Telling himself that you were too far gone, that you weren’t going to make it, felt wrong. To him, it seemed like he was cursing you. Like willing your death into existence. Like begging the universe to end your life. 

And so, he opted for a neutral mantra. “She’s home,” he told himself. “She’s home. She’s home. She’s home.”

The distance to the medbay felt longer than usual. The hallways seemed to stretch on forever, the double doors to the triage center seemed to grow farther and farther away. Bucky followed your gurney closely, only allowing a few inches of space between the two of you. He couldn’t be separated from you again. He wouldn’t. He needed to be with you every second, watching over you. 

A dark cloud of impending doom loomed over his psyche. It whispered to him, telling him that if he left your side, if he let you out of his sight, you’d die. You’d be gone forever. And it would be his fault. He knew it was nonsense, that this was just his anxiety operating on overdrive. But he couldn’t shake the fear. And risking it wasn’t an option.

“No visitors past this point,” a security guard placed an arm in front of Bucky as he tried to enter the triage unit.

Bucky tried to go around the man, watching as the medical staff carried you farther out of reach. “I’m not a visitor, I’m an agent-” 

“No agents past this point, then,” the guard rolled his eyes. “Only patients and medical staff. You can have a seat over there.”

A small table sat against the wall, flanked by two chairs. It was a sad, makeshift excuse for a waiting room that operated as a device to keep people from hanging around. But bucky couldn’t be discouraged. He took a seat in one of the chairs, determined to wait there as long as he had to. He knew he’d missed a number of important phone calls by now, and probably several meetings. But he didn’t care; all that mattered was you. 

Dread circled Bucky like a buzzard as he waited. It was taking too long- why was it taking so long? How much time did the medical staff need? You were stable when the jet landed, the nurse said so. Why were there no updates? All Bucky needed was a nod, a bit of information. But he remained in the dark, wondering if you died on the operating table.

Maria found Bucky slumped in a chair with a zombie-like air about him. He was expressionless, his gaze hollow. His palms traced the same track up and down his thighs in a never-ending cycle. One look and she knew: something was very wrong.

“Hey,” she called softly, hoping not to startle him.

But Bucky didn’t respond- he didn’t even react. He just sat there, his unblinking stare burning a hole in the tile. An uneasiness enveloped Maria. She’d never seen Bucky so empty, so despondent. As she stared at him, she found herself fearing the worst. ‘Maybe he just received terrible news’ she thought. ‘Maybe he’s grieving’.

“Hey,” she tried again, nudging her foot against his. 

He came back to life with a start. A sharp inhale filled his chest, his eyes blinked wildly. But his palms never stopped moving in their endless cycle against his tactical pants. And he never actually looked at her.

“Hi…” he breathed. 

Hill took the seat opposite him. She conjured the gentlest, warmest tone she could find, “is everything okay?”

Bucky balled his hands into tight fists and stretched them out again. Maria noticed blood- your blood- crusting under his fingernails and staining his skin. But before she could get a good look, he grabbed the arms of the chair. His palms rubbed fervently against the plastic handles for a moment until they moved to his face. He ran his hands along his jaw, his spiky stubble poking into his skin.

“Barnes, what happened? Are you-”

Finally, his head snapped in her direction, “I can still feel it…”

“Feel what?”

Bucky’s head fell into his hands. He pressed his palms against his eyes and dragged them down his face. Maria watched him fall apart in slow motion. He seemed to be unraveling, one cell at a time. And when he finally spoke, shame made his words almost unintelligible. 

“She crashed on the jet…”

“Oh...” Maria did her best to keep a calm, even tone. Her concern for you vibrated in her chest, but she didn’t dare let it free- not when Bucky was moments away from a meltdown. “Is she-”

“The med team needed help. There weren’t enough of them- they needed me to do chest compressions,” Bucky said, his voice low. “And I broke- I crushed her ribs.” 

A sharp shudder rocked his entire body. Just thinking of that moment, when his too-strong hands destroyed your chest, was enough to make him sick. To scar him for life. To haunt him. Of all the horrible things he’d done in over the years, this was the worst. He gave his hands a quick shake, hoping to rid his nerve endings of the sensation.

“I felt her bones snapping under my hands,” Bucky’s words dripped with shame. “And I can still… I still feel it.”

“Okay,” Maria said gently. “Well, if she-”

“She was already in such bad shape,” Bucky swiped a tear from his cheek. “And I… I hurt her. I made it so much worse.” 

His head fell into his hands once again and did not reemerge. 

“Hey, look at me,” Maria gave his arm a gentle touch. 

Bucky only shook his head. 

“Come on, Barnes, just look at me for a second.”

Again, he refused. 

Maria abandoned her chair and sat instead on the small table. She never got this close to Bucky. Usually, she preferred to give him his space. He wasn’t the touchy-feely type- unless you were around. But he was lost in a shame spiral, adrift with no hope of return. And he needed rescuing. She placed her hands on his and gently removed them from his face. 

“You saved her life,” Maria said. “Twice. You rescued her from the base, and when the med team needed help, you came through.”

“But I-”

“Did it work?” Maria asked, her tine almost stern. “Did the chest compressions work?”

Bucky nodded. 

Maria gave him a shrug, “That’s all that matters. She can recover from a few broken ribs, but if you hadn’t been there-” 

Bucky averted his gaze as his eyes filled with tears. 

“Hey,” Maria grabbed his face, bringing his focus back to her. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead.”

Maria’s words fought hard against the demeaning voice that lived inside Bucky’s head. It screamed at him, telling him that he shouldn’t believe her, that he was a monster, that he almost killed you. Usually, Bucky allowed his inner demons to run free. He listened to them without pause, believing anything and everything they told him, no matter how vile. But Maria was steadfast and unshakable in her sentiments; she truly believed what she was saying. And by some miracle, Bucky did, too.

“Thanks…” He granted her a hollow smile and a small nod. 

Hill sat in silence with him for a few hours. She didn’t try to make small talk or ask what was going on inside his head. She simply existed near him, sharing the space so that he didn’t have to be alone. She ignored important texts and sent every call to voicemail. She knew it was exactly what you’d do for him, if you were able. And she did her best to fill your shoes.

Abruptly, Bucky’s head snapped in her direction. His pulse thrummed against his skin as a new wave of anxiety crashed over him. “She kept saying…” he sighed. “She kept saying we needed to talk. She wanted to talk to me about something.”

Maria cocked her head to the side, “About what?”

He shrugged. “I told her we could talk later because there would be plenty of time,” Bucky’s words grew shaky. He found himself near tears for what felt like the millionth time that day. Guilt sucker punched him. “What if… what if there isn’t more time for us? What if that was all we were ever going to get? What if-”

“You’ll get more time,” Maria said with certainty. “The universe has a way of evening things out. You were robbed of time once; it won’t happen again. Plus, you’re deserved some fucking karmic retribution- you’re owed this.”

Bucky wondered how she could be that sure of something so ethereal. But she was steady, solid as a rock. She didn’t waver in her words or add caveats at the end. She, somehow, knew it to be true. And Bucky couldn’t help but believe her.

But when Fury called her for the eighth time, she knew quiet time was over.

“I have to go, okay? Fury can’t do anything without me, he’s hopeless.” She stood from her seat and rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Call if you need anything.”

Bucky thanked her a million times over and, for the first time, gave Maria a hug. She would never know how much her reassurances helped him. She’d pulled him from the ledge and gave him what he desperately needed: perspective.

In the hours that followed, he let her words play on a constant loop inside his mind. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead,” he heard her say. “You’ll get more time.” The sickening feeling of your bones snapping under his strength never faded, and the fear of losing you still had him in a chokehold, but Maria’s words quieted his mind. 

In the sad, empty waiting room, time seemed to mutate. Some of the hours dragged, others whizzed by. Bucky wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. Was it ten hours? Or twenty? He didn’t really care. He’d wait lifetimes for you. 

He saw the security guards change shifts once, twice. It was the only thing alerting him to the passage of time, as part of him believed it was standing still. On the third shift change, they told him to go home. 

“They’ll call you if there’s an update”, said one of the guards. “It’d probably be a good idea for you to go get some sleep, or something.”

Bucky knew he looked like hell. Your blood left crimson streaks across his face and neck. And the dark circles he usually wore under his eyes were a deep shade of plum. But he couldn’t leave, he couldn’t sleep. Not when your life hung in the balance. Not when you needed him. 

A few more hours passed with no news, and Bucky found himself teetering on the edge of insanity. An angry, desperate voice bellowed inside his head. It told him to bust through the doors and find you, no matter what it took- even if it meant hurting people in the process. The gun secured to his hip and the knife strapped to his ankle became eerily attractive. His hands itched to reach for the weapons, to hold someone at gun point until they allowed him to see you. But he couldn’t to give in to the fear, to the violence. It took him years of therapy and long talks with you to stop seeing himself as a monster- and he refused to destroy the progress you helped him make. 

A doctor stepped out of the double doors and looked in Bucky’s direction, “Sergeant Barnes?”  

Bucky was on his feet before he knew what hit him. This was it. After what felt like an eternity of not knowing whether you lived or died, he was about to have an answer. Sweat dampened his palm, his brow as he stood in front of your doctor. 

He didn’t know he was even capable of this kind of fear, this kind of agony. And though he was an impossibly strong physical specimen, Bucky knew he’d never be able to lift the weight of the grief that followed your loss. He knew that, if you died, he’d spend the rest of his life dragging himself from place to place, unable to stand, unable to push back against the overwhelming, oppressive force of losing you. 

Your doctor spoke quickly and professionally about your condition, but the words turned to mush the second they reached Bucky’s brain. The combination of medical jargon and pure panic made their meanings imperceptible. But one phrase managed to cut through the fog of Bucky’s anxiety and exhaustion: “you can see her now.”

And just like that, Bucky took off. His fatigued body did its best to carry him through the halls, stumbling every now and then on the smooth tile of the hospital floors. But he didn’t dare slow down. He had to get to you. 

By the time he reached the door to your room, he found himself shaking- almost shivering- with anxiety. He knew you were alive, of course. Knew that the doctors had been successful in saving your life. But something in him doubted their handiwork. Something in him swore that if he didn’t get to you in the next half second, you’d flatline. Again. 

He could practically feel his brain rattling around inside his skull, his teeth chattered against one another. And the sharp tremors in his hands made it nearly impossible to get a grip on the door handle. Panic and frustration coursed through him as the he tried again and again to gain entry to your room with no luck. A strangled sob forced its way out of his chest and caught the attention of a nurse- one of the nurses who helped keep you alive on the jet. 

“Hey…” Her eyes drifted to Bucky’s shaking hands. “Need some help?” Before Bucky could answer, she’d abandoned the medication she was prepping, discarded her gloves, and made her way to his side.

“Here, let me.” Her soft, sympathetic tone was almost too kind; Bucky’s eyes blurred with tears. She turned the door handle and gestured for Bucky to go inside.

His “thank you” was for more than just the door. 

Bucky took a few steps inside and drew in a sharp breath; he’d never seen you in such severe condition. Over the many hours that Bucky waited for you outside, all of your bruises grew darker, more menacing. They stained your throat, your face, your arms. He didn’t even want to think about the ones on your chest- the ones he caused. Dried blood crusted in your hair and formed a path down the side of your face. It sat caked under your fingernails and rested in the creases of your palms. Thankfully, your gunshot wound was covered by gauze and concealed by your gown. But knowing it was there was enough to make Bucky sick. He, of course, witnessed and inflicted, his fair share of carnage over the years. But he knew your wound would haunt him for years to come- simply because it was yours. 

All he wanted was to be near you. To sit at your bedside and hold your hand. But he didn’t dare to get any closer. Electrodes attached a dozen wires to your chest. IVs sat lodged in the crooks of your elbows, in the backs of your hands. Machines and monitors kept track of your vitals. And who was he to disturb this fragile, vital ecosystem? What if he accidentally pulled out one of your IVs? What if he detached a wire by mistake? He’d already hurt you once today, he wasn’t about to do it again. 

He, instead, opted to stand at attention. A few feet away. For your safety. He didn’t touch you, didn’t even say your name. He simply stared at you, counting your every breath. 

An hour- or maybe two- passed by with him like this. Nurses checked on you, doctors poked their heads in. And every time, they told him he was permitted to sit by your bedside. But he just shook his head. Sure, slipping his hand into yours, being close to you- it would provide him with incomprehensible comfort. But he couldn’t, not when you were so severely injured. 

After the third hour, Bucky feared his sanity was slipping. A wicked voice lodged deep in his psyche suddenly awakened. It whispered to him, taunted him. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe he was asleep in the waiting room. Maybe you didn’t survive. Maybe…

And he would’ve believed it, had you not snapped him out of the vicious spiral. 

“Buck?” He feared he’d never hear you voice again, but there it was. Hoarse and weak- but yours.

Bucky flew to your side. He cradled your face gingerly in his hands, completely consumed by the need to touch you, to feel you, to know that you were real. His palms laid flush against your cheeks, his thumbs sweeping over your skin. And in an instant, the sickly sensation of your snapping bones vanished.

A hurricane of tangled thoughts and emotions crashed over him. He had so much to he wanted to say, so much he wanted to confess to you. But the words refused to arrange themselves properly. Suddenly, Bucky wished he’d used his ample time in the waiting room to better organize his thoughts. He wished he’d sought out a pen and a scrap of paper and used them to plan and articulate his sentiment. But even if he’d found the supplies he needed, he wouldn’t have been able to jot a single thing down. Not with his shaking, unsteady hands.

Anxious words and broken sobs got stuck in his throat and formed a garbled, unintelligible mess as they left his mouth. But it was the best he could do. He stared at you, waiting for your response.

“I, um…” you looked at him for a long moment. The haze of head trauma, blood loss, and pain killers made you foggy. You did your best to trace your steps back through Bucky’s words, certain that your condition was the cause of your confusion. But after a significant pause, you came up empty. “Sorry, I- what?”

Bucky slid one of his hands into yours and gave a soft laugh. “Sorry. I tried to say-” He sat quiet for a moment. What had he tried to say, exactly? He wasn’t sure. With a small shake of his head, he re-rerouted. “Um, it doesn’t matter. Here, how’s this:” He cleared his throat and spoke with the sharpest pronunciation possible. “How are you feeling?”

Your laugh- Bucky’s favorite laugh- bubbled up to the surface. But regret swallowed you whole as pain shot through your head, your chest, your side. The hurt radiated through your entire being. It rendered you breathless, and left your face twisted in an agonized grimace.

Bucky didn’t like how long it took you to recover from the small chuckle you shot his way. A pang of worry shot through him.  “Don’t exert yourself, okay?” He swept a thumb across your cheek, “you don’t wanna tear your stitches or...” He cleared his throat, “aggravate any, um, broken bones.” Bones that he broke.

“No, I’m…” you squeezed your eyes shut for a long moment before opening them again. The pain slowly receded. “I’m good, I’m okay. I just- breathing is hard. I forgot how shitty it feels to have broken ribs.”

Bucky nodded. His teeth sunk into the smooth flesh of his cheek. A metallic taste coated his mouth. He didn’t want to tell you the truth. Didn’t want you to know that he was the cause of your severe pain. But you deserved to know, didn’t you? With a deep sigh, he opened his mouth, intent on telling you what really happened. But you cut him off. 

“Thank you, Buck. For coming to get me. I really thought I was…” Hot tears stung your eyes and blurred your vision. “I thought that was it for me, you know? And I just want you to know how-” you sniffed, “how grateful I am.”

Bucky left your side for only a second, retrieving a box of tissues from the counter across the room. He was back in no time and swept a tissue across your cheek to catch your tears.

“I know we always say that we have each other’s backs but you… you meant it,” you said. A small smile pulled at your lips, “thank you for meaning it.”

Bucky nodded. He did his best to keep his breathing steady, to stop himself from falling apart at the seams. He knew exactly what it felt like to be left behind, to wait for your last moments- alone. 

“I wasn’t gonna leave you there, doll. I couldn’t.” 

You gave a small nod. “Yeah, I- I wish my partner had felt the same way…” The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. It sliced though Bucky’s chest. “I didn’t think he would ever do something like that. I mean, I thought we were friends.”

The mere thought of Jake brought a familiar rage to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. He didn’t understand how anyone could be so callous, so uncaring- so indifferent to the well-being of others. The part of him that swore off unnecessary violence remained quiet as the rest of him imagined Jake’s demise. He wanted your disloyal partner to suffer. To squirm and squeal and regret that he ever left you behind. But that could wait- you were the priority.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect him to be that kind of person,” Bucky sighed, “he seemed like a stand-up guy.”

Silence filled the room as you thought over Jake’s desertion. His abandonment hurt. It stung in places you didn’t expect. You’d taken Jake under your wing and did everything in your power to be the best leader possible. All you wanted was to help him. To set him up for success. 

And after working alongside Bucky for so long, you’d forgotten that disloyalty to one’s partner was even an option. 

“He probably panicked,” you tried to rationalize. “And then once he realized what he’d done, maybe he…”

There was no rationalizing this. 

An ugly realization slithered into your mind. “After he left, I think he probably hoped I’d just die… that way I wouldn’t be able to give my side of the story.” The weight of Jake’s actions hit you like a train. Rivulets of warm tears rolled down your cheeks, only to be swept away by Bucky’s gentle hand. With a small shake of your head, you did your best to banish the feelings of abandonment and betrayal. Wallowing would only make you more miserable. And you didn’t need emotional pain on top of the physical agony that already plagued you.

“Well, joke’s on him,” you shrugged, “cause I’m still alive.” Pain radiated through your chest, bringing a grimace to your face. “Kind of.” 

Bucky didn’t understand how you could just dismiss the bad feelings. Couldn’t understand your propensity for levity. Your partner left you for dead without a second thought- and yet, you found a way to joke about it. It was something he’d always admired about you, something he wished he was capable of. 

You gave a strained laugh, “I can’t wait to see the look on Jake’s face when he finds out that I didn’t die.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what prompted him to say it. It left his mouth without his brain’s authorization.

“But you did.”

He wished to take the words back, but it was too late. They hung in the air, just out of his reach. 

“I…” you struggled to grasp Bucky’s words. “I what?”

This was not the time- or the place, or the way- to tell you the truth. But he didn’t have a choice. His clumsy words made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. 

“You, um…” Bucky didn’t want to think about what happened, let alone say it out loud. But he owed it to you to be honest. Especially after Jake had lied to you about being a trustworthy partner. Bucky scratched at the stubble on his face, ran a hand through his hair. Anything to delay the inevitable. But he couldn’t put it off for long. “Your heart stopped- you died. On the jet.”

Only one word fell from your lips, “Oh…” 

“And while I’m at it, I might as well tell you that…” Bucky took a deep inhale. He was in too deep now. And keeping this from you any longer felt like lying. “That your ribs are broken because of me.”

A quizzical look crossed your face, “what do you mean?”

“I mean… the med team was short staffed on the jet. There were only three of them. And when you crashed, it was- it was an all hands on deck situation.” He flashed back to the moment when the alarms sounded. When your EKG flatlined. A shudder ran through him. “They needed me to do chest compressions. And I- I didn’t want to hurt you, but the nurse said I wasn’t pushing hard enough to actually help you. And when I pushed harder- I broke your ribs.”

Bucky searched your face for something- anything. Anger. Fear. Betrayal. But he found nothing. Your expression was as neutral as they come. He feared that something lingered just below the surface. That once you fully processed his words, you’d erupt into a perfect storm of disgust and disappointment.

He told himself to wait silently until you made up your mind. But the outburst exploded from his lips before he could stop it. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You know I’d never want to hurt you, I would never do anything to hurt you. But I… they told me I had to push harder. Or it wasn’t going to work. And I just wanted it to work, I wanted you to be okay, and-”

It took almost all of your strength to raise your hand and place a finger to Bucky’s lips. He fell silent.

“Buck, it’s okay.”

He tried to form a rebuttal, but you cut him off. 

“You didn’t have to rescue me, but you did. No questions asked, no hesitation. You saved my life by getting me out of there. And you saved me again by helping the med team.” Your hand drifted from Bucky’s face and landed in his palm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your palm. His eyes fell downward. You could almost see the shame eating him alive from the inside.

 “Hey,” you intertwined your fingers with his. “I can handle a few broken ribs.”

“No, I- I know you can. I just…” A sad smiled flickered across his lips. “I feel terrible. You went through a lot. And I just don’t like knowing I made it worse.”

A long silence filled the room. You’d seen this side of Bucky more times than you could count. And you knew him well enough to know what followed. He was going to feel bad- terrible, actually- about this for a while. There was no accelerating the process or absolving him of his guilt. No amount of reassurances could save him from it. He just had to sit with it. One day, the weight would diminish. But it was going to take time. And that was okay. 

You gave his hand a squeeze. “I thought your voice was a hallucination, you know.”

Bucky lifted his head.

“And when you came into the room, I actually thought that was a hallucination, too.” A smile stretched across your face, “I mean, I thought I was losing my mind.”  

Bucky gave a half-hearted chuckle. He didn’t want to think about you in that room by yourself. About you struggling to tell what was real.

“But then you touched me…” You raised your hand and brushed it across your cheek, mimicking him. “And that’s when I realized that you were real- that you were there.” You fell quiet for a moment, lost in the memory of Bucky’s rescue. “It was like, in that moment, I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t scared of the pain. I wasn’t scared of dying. I was just scared that…”

“What?”

“You have to promise not to laugh,” you told him with an authoritative tone. “Cause I know it’s corny, or cheesy, or whatever.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky drew an X over his heart. “I’m not gonna laugh at you.”

You stared at him with narrowed eyes, sizing up his promise. But, of course, you knew Bucky would never tease or ridicule you about something like this. 

“Okay, fine, I um… I was scared that I’d never see you again. If I died, I mean.”

Bucky’s lungs emptied. He couldn’t remember how to breathe, how to speak. A sudden ache ripped through his heart as it splintered and shattered into a million pieces. To know that you thought of him in what you believed were your last moments somehow ripped him apart and put him back together all at once.

Your voice cracked. Tears filled your eyes. “I was afraid that we’d already run out of time. I was afraid that we weren’t going to get any more.” A few soft sobs escaped from your throat, followed by a pained groan. But you pushed passed the throbbing in your chest. “But I was so relieved. Because I got to see you one last time. It was the most intense sense of peace I’ve ever experienced.”

Bucky struggled to hold on to his composure. He felt himself crumbling, weakening under the weight of your words. 

“But then I realized- I realized I’d never get to tell you. And you kept saying we could talk later, but I didn’t know if there would be a ‘later’. And when I blacked out, I was so full of…” You shook your head ever so slightly, sending a few tears dripping onto your cheeks. “I had so much regret. Because I needed you to know.”

“To know what?” Bucky leaned in close, searching your face for any inkling, any clue. “Doll, it’s ‘later’. Tell me- whatever it is. You can tell me now, it’s-”

Your lips met his in a soft kiss. In it, everything you’d ever felt for him came rushing forward. Admiration. Longing. Lust. Obsession. Adoration. Love. 

A sting of pain jolted through you as your split lip brushed his, but you didn’t care. His hands found your face, your fingers curled into the collar of his shirt. It was always supposed to be this way. 

When the two of you finally separated, Bucky simply stared at you. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he knew how. 

“I love you, Buck. I’ve loved you- for so long.” A huff left your chest, “So. Long.” 

Still, Bucky remained silent. Nerves began crawling through you like vines, twisting their way through every fiber of your being. But you owed it to yourself, and to Bucky, to tell him the truth. 

“And I just… I know how you see yourself. And I know you don’t think you’re even worthy of my friendship, let alone love. But I was so anxious, cause I thought you’d never know the truth. I thought I’d die without getting to tell you. And you’d live the rest of your life thinking that you’re not worthy, that no one could ever love you. But I- I love you. I just needed you to know.”

The silence made your ears ring. Bucky’s face still wore a mask of bewilderment. And you feared you’d ruined everything. 

“You don’t have to say it back, though,” you said. “I’m not gonna stop being your friend if this is an unrequited thing.”

Finally, Bucky came back to life. He rolled his eyes and let a scoff escape his lips. He leaned in close, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours. “Unrequited? I broke every SWORD rule and policy. Abducted medical staff. Stole a jet. And went on an unauthorized mission. All to get you back. I didn’t even know if you were alive, I just- I had to bring you home.” 

He closed the small gap that remained between your face and his and granted you warm, gentle kiss that tasted like home. “I did all that- and you thought there was even a chance that I didn’t love you back?” Bucky gave a playful roll of his eyes, “you don’t know me at all, sweetheart.”

You returned his eye roll. "Well, you're a really great friend to me. And you always have been. So, I didn’t take a rescue as a proclamation of love,” you gave a strained chuckle. “I just thought-”

“I’ve loved you for…” Bucky thought back over the course of your friendship. The day you first met, the first time you helped him through a panic attack, the time he made you the ugliest cake in the world for your birthday. He saw his life in two parts: before he met you and after he met you. And he so preferred the after. 

“I don’t even know how long,” he shrugged. It was almost automatic. His feelings for you didn’t need a slow, gradual build up. They descended upon him all at once, like the world’s most beautiful avalanche.  “It’s been a long time- an embarrassing amount of time, probably,” he laughed.

“Oh, so we’re both cowards then,” you shot him a wink. “Too afraid to tell the other how we feel.”

Bucky nodded, “It seems that way…”

“But you weren’t too scared to steal a jet and run into possible gun fire?” you quipped.

“Nope. Didn’t even think about it,” he said matter-of-factly. “I just wanted to find you.”

You’d never experienced a love- a commitment- like that. It sent a rush of warmth into your cheeks and somehow eased the pain plaguing your body. You knew in your heart you would’ve done the same for Bucky without a second thought. But knowing that he was so fiercely determined to bring you home felt almost unbelievable. You had the proof, though, right there in front of you. This man, who you loved, loved you too. And loved you enough to risk his life for you. It wasn’t something you’d ever ask him to do, and you knew you’d never have to. He’d do it without hesitation. Without reservation. He’d walk through fire for you if it meant bringing you home. 

--------------------------------------------------------

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality  @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony  @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl  @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine  @evangeliamerryll @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather  @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural  @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo  @juvellian @samanthacookieone  @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat

[red-garden]

Qi Qingqi is not often sent out in missions with Shen Qingqiu, thank the heavens. Unfortunately, they are the spy masters of Cang Qiong, and there are occasions where they must collaborate.

After a handful of moles in a forest demon court were discovered, both were dispatched to infiltrate and rescue them. The mission went smoothly of course, they’re peak lords after all. The disciples were sent back on various secret routes. Shen Qingqiu handled the demon diplomacy while she liberated the spies. As long as they could fly back without killing each other, everything should be fine. Right?

Everything was not fine. Shen Qingqiu was not reacting well to some of the food he had to eat. The sect leader would tear Qi Qingqi a new asshole if she flew back to the sect without him, so she had to walk with him from town to town for li upon li. Of course a qi deviation was bound to happen, the Qing Jing peak lord’s cultivation was held together by twine. What she didn’t expect was the state the deviation would leave him in.

Once the sparking and flickering subsided, there was a very small, very gaunt boy wearing the peak lord’s clothing.

The boy was shaking. He asks where he is, and where his master went. He asks if he’d been sold again. Qi Qingqi says she doesn’t understand. The boy explains in a state of panic that he needs to find Qiu Jianluo as soon as possible if he doesn’t want to die, and he doesn’t want to die.

He says his name in Shen Jiu.

And he looks like a hundred girls Qi Qingqi has personally bought the contracts of.

He starts to calm down when she explains that if Qiu Jianluo is still alive, Shen Jiu has not seen him in many years. He grew to be a great cultivator, and he is usually much older than this.

Shen Jiu is a very timid child. He uses formal language obsessively, keeps his eyes down, and only speaks when spoken to. He’s rail thin. Where the too big robes spill off of him, mottled skin covered in a lattice of scars is quickly obscured by desperate hands.

He holds a fragile excitement about his future. Slowly, he asks questions about what sect he’s a part of, what his role is, what’s the name of his sword. He hasn’t learned to read the characters on the blade yet.

He asks Master Qi if she knows of another cultivator named Yue Qi.

Of course, that is the given name of zhangmen-shixiong. He entered the sect a little after Qi Qingqi did.

Shen Jiu smiles. He has the barest indent of dimples on his thin cheeks.

The journey back to the sect is interesting. Shen Jiu is cooperative enough to fly like this. He’s very quiet, barely clinging to Qi Qingqi’s robes. At one point he falls, leaning to see the city from above. He’s such a small thing, Qi Qingqi resolves to carry him. He barely weighs anything. He only whispers a thank you and wraps his arms around her neck, tucking his head under her chin. He makes himself so small, as if afraid to be noticed.

They fly straight to Qiong Ding. Shen Jiu hasn’t said much about the sect leader but Qi Qingqi’s suspicions have been aroused. She breezes through the line, little boy scrambling behind her awkwardly in his oversized clothing.

“Zhangmen-Shixiong, we need to talk now.”

He’s sitting at his desk as usual, Wei Qingwei apparently meeting with him. Qi Qingqi feels a tug on her skirts- Shen Jiu is standing behind her, shaking again.

“Qi-jie, where are we?”

Yue Qingyuan’s face goes white. He stands from his desk, neck craning to see the source of the voice. “Xiao Jiu?”

The boy peeks out, eyes wide. Wei Qingwei spots him too. “Shit, did Shen-Shixiong deviate?”

Yue Qingyuan leans over his desk, eyes pleading. “Does Xiao Jiu recognize me?”

Shen Jiu shrinks back, clutching Qi Qingqi’s skirts far more desperately. Qi Qingqi puts a hand on his arm. “You’re scaring him!”

Suddenly Qi Qingqi doesn’t feel as good bringing this child here. She turns around, scooping him up in her arms. “Zhangmen-Shixiong should finish his meetings. We’re going to Qian Cao and then home.”

[witherby]

What would happen if any if the batfamilys enemies kidnapped baby y/n and ended up hurting them badly?

I'm happy to tell you, but not in any fantastic detail. When you say "baby" I think "infant, no teeth, still in diapers, etc."

Content warning for bruises on an infant

--

The contexts in which you would not be with a family member as an infant are very few and far between. I'm thinking a couple of your brothers have you on an outing, like a soiree or a networking lunch for Wayne Enterprises, where they have to put the masks away and act like civilians. There's lots of people around, their attention spans are divided, and they're also counting down the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave.

When that time finally hits, Dick politely excuses himself and goes to collect you and Tim so they can head home. But he only finds Tim.

And Tim turns and only sees Dick.

"I thought you were watching them," Tim says, immediately turning sheet white. Dick's complexion is the same.

"I thought you were watching them."

Cue the immediate panic. Tim has his phone out and is trying to pinpoint your location via the tracker they put in all your pacifiers. Dick's eyes are sweeping the area for any signs of you having either crawled away or gotten scooped up by some confused and well-meaning socialite.

You are far away, and getting farther. Someone definitely took you on purpose. They don't hesitate before leaving the gathering and radioing backup. They'll handle all the screaming and scolding from everyone else as long as you get back home safe.

Whoever did take you, be it someone from the usual rogues gallery or a rando that likes kidnapping kids, it doesn't take long for them to catch up to him. It also doesn't take long to do any damage, either, so when they do find you, it's unfortunately with some significant bruising. Your chubby cheeks are red from tears and your arms and waist have handprint bruising from being dragged around, but nothing is broken or bleeding.

Your brothers can't say the same for the one that had the balls kidnap you. He should be thankful Jason was already on another mission.

(Jason comes back and pays him a visit anyway. Nobody gets to lay a fucking finger on you.)

In the aftermath, you're almost overwhelmed by the attention. You don't sleep in your nursery alone again for months; either someone is in there with you, or you're simply relocated to one of their bedrooms for the night. You're handled so, so delicately, like you're made of porcelain. It's all very soft play and quiet voices for a couple days. If you flinch at contact, either due to the trauma of the kidnapping or because someone brushed against a bruise that's still healing, there will be tears shed from that person.

Bruce notices you flinch when he burps you after a feeding and he has to sit on the floor with you in his lap because his hands are shaking so badly.

Damian will not touch you directly at all. If you need to be picked up, he's fashioning a hammock to slowly and gently roll you into and then carry you off.

Alfred maintains the calmest facade when he carries you around, but if you make any kind of whine or pained face, he has to take a moment alone to recollect himself.

Dick and Tim can barely stand to look at you. They're overwhelmed with guilt for assuming the other person was watching you and not simply double-checking themselves.

Jason asks Tim if he can do some tummy time with you, and he just straight up shakes his head.

Dick fucks up his sleep schedule keeping an eye on you in the night, because even though Dr. Thompkins cleared you, what if she missed something and you develop a complication and need help? He doesn't patrol Blüdhaven properly for weeks, instead coming over to Gotham to keep vigil at your window.

Needless to say, the general public does not see you again for months, and when they do, you are with the entire family. They will not let that happen again.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

@errorunfound1

Yandere!neglectful!Batfam x mom!reader

Wayne Manor had always felt vast, but to you, it was more of a void than a home. It was easy to get lost in its endless hallways, in the constant hum of life orbiting Bruce’s nocturnal mission. You married him for love, despite knowing the weight of the life he led. You accepted his scars, his mission, his world. But what you hadn’t expected was how little space there would be left for you in it.

Bruce was always out, chasing shadows, leaving you to navigate a family that seemed determined to keep you at arm’s length. You poured your heart into them—Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian—but your efforts were met with indifference at best and disdain at worst. You had been a mother in every way that mattered, yet the coldness you received in return made your heart ache.

“You don’t have to act like you care,” Jason sneered once when you tried to patch him up after patrol. “We both know you’re just here for him.”

Tim barely acknowledged you unless it was necessary, his head buried in his work. Dick’s smiles, once genuine, now felt like politeness masking discomfort. And Damian, always the sharpest, had no qualms about cutting you down. “You’re not my mother,” he’d said, his words a dagger that twisted in your chest.

Bruce never intervened. When you tried to tell him, his responses were dismissive. “They’ll come around,” he’d say before disappearing into the night. But they never did.

So, you stayed quiet, swallowing the hurt, letting it fester.

One night, you stood in the empty dining room, staring at the cold, untouched dinner you’d prepared. The clock ticked on the wall, counting the hours Bruce was late. Again. You could hear the faint hum of voices from the Batcave below, the family gathered around him while you sat alone.

It wasn’t anger that bubbled up this time. It was resignation.

You left that night, not with a dramatic goodbye, but with a simple bag and a note left on the kitchen counter.

“I love you, but I can’t keep losing myself in a family that doesn’t want me.”

The days without you passed unnoticed at first. Bruce buried himself in his work, assuming you needed time to cool off. The Batkids carried on as usual, their lives too busy to miss the quiet presence you’d once provided.

It was Alfred who noticed first—the meals left uneaten, the flowers on the windowsill wilting. “Sir,” he said carefully one evening, “she’s not coming back.”

Bruce stopped mid-step, his expression flickering. “She just needs time.”

But days turned into weeks, and the absence became impossible to ignore. The manor felt colder, emptier. Jason snapped more often, his temper flaring at the slightest provocation. Tim’s focus wavered, his mistakes piling up in a way they never had before. Damian trained harder, his strikes sharper, but there was a new tension in him, an unease he wouldn’t voice.

“She left us,” Damian said one night, his tone sharp but brittle. “That’s on her.”

“No,” Dick said quietly, guilt heavy in his voice. “It’s on us.”

Bruce found you three weeks later, living in a modest apartment far from the grandeur of Wayne Manor. The door was locked, but that had never been an obstacle for him. He let himself in, his imposing frame filling the doorway as you stood frozen in the kitchen.

“Bruce,” you said, your voice tight.

“Come home.” His tone was soft but firm, the same voice he used to give orders in the field.

Your laugh was bitter, hollow. “Home? That place hasn’t felt like home in years.”

His jaw tightened, the only sign of his frustration. “You belong there. With me. With them.”

“I belonged there once,” you said, your voice breaking. “But I spent years trying to love a family that couldn’t love me back. Do you even realize how much it hurt, Bruce? To be invisible in my own home?”

He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “I didn’t see it. I should have. But I’m here now.”

“Too late,” you whispered, tears spilling over.

But Bruce Wayne was not a man who gave up easily. His hand reached out, brushing against yours. “You think I’ll let you go that easily?” His voice dropped, a dangerous edge slipping into his tone. “You’re mine. You always have been.”

You pulled away, shaking your head. “You don’t love me, Bruce. You love control. You love having someone waiting for you. But I won’t be that person anymore.”

The silence between you was heavy, suffocating. His eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you thought he might let you go. But Bruce was nothing if not persistent.

“You’re coming home,” he said, his voice soft but unyielding.

Before you could respond, his hand shot forward, pressing a syringe into your arm. The sharp sting was followed by a wave of dizziness, and your legs buckled.

“Bruce,” you gasped, your vision swimming as he caught you.

“It’s for your own good,” he murmured, his arms cradling you as darkness pulled you under.

(A/n: this is why I don't take money 😅 writing shi asf 😔🔥 chat did I cook or am I cooked?)

[after-avenging-hours]

Rinse Cycle: Bucky x Reader

Pairing: New Avengers Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's laundry day, when you get called out on a last-minute mission, and you've run out of your normal, practical pairs of underwear. The team finds out and teases you relentlessly, before Bucky puts an end to the conversation. He later tracks you down to the laundry room and catches a glimpse of the lingerie you had on under your combat suit. He offers his assistance by running you through the rinse cycle.

Word Count: 5864

Warnings: 18+, Explicit sexual content, fingering with Bucky's metal arm, semi-public sex (threat of getting caught), squirting, shower sex, secret relationship, use of feminine pronouns for reader, new avengers reader, bucky picks reader up and carries them, mentions of wearing Bucky's clothes as your own

Divider credit

“Why are you walking funny? Were you hit?” Yelena’s voice is the first thing to greet you as you walk onto the jet. There’s a note of concerned curiosity as she eyes you up and down.

You release a soft groan and try to correct your gait. “Not hit, just uncomfortable. It’s laundry day,” you provide the minimal explanation while pulling open your weapon locker and starting to pull off all the guns and knives you have stashed all around your person.

“Ah,” Yelena smirks knowingly.

“I’m confused,” Walker pipes up from the other side of the jet. “What does laundry have to do with the way you’re walking?”

Before you can tell him to mind his own business, Ava cuts in, grinning wickedly. “Means she’s got sexy panties riding up her bum.”

You shoot her an accusatory glare and flip her off, which only makes her laugh. “The only thing riding up my bum is all of you pains in the ass.” You make a circular motion with your hand, indicating to everyone on the jet.

“Who are you calling a pain in the ass?” Bucky asks from behind you, making his way up the loading ramp.

“You, especially.” The sass in your tone does not go unnoticed.

He shoots you a conspiratorial smile as he walks past. He then moves to the front of the jet and activates the touchscreen console. “Data package secure. Returning to base,” he sends off the transmission and starts running through the takeoff procedures.

You settle into your seat and clip in, releasing a sigh of content now that you’re heading back home. Your relief is short-lived when you realize the conversation isn’t over.

John leans forward in his chair to catch your attention. “I thought women usually saved their granny panties for laundry day.”

You, Ava, and Yelena all scoff in unison. “Not that it’s any business of yours, but in our line of work, comfort usually outranks fashion.” The smile on your face is feral at best and deranged at worst.

“Yeah,” Yelena agrees. “Have you ever tried to dropkick someone with a thong so far up your crack, it felt like it was flossing your asshole?”

John winces and shifts in his seat, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Can’t say that I have…”

“This conversation seems incredibly work appropriate,” Bucky interjects, eyes focused out the windshield as he initiates the jet’s vertical ascent.

 “Well, this one thought it would be work appropriate to wear lingerie today,” Ava points at you over her shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, Ava. It’s not like I’m going to take them off and start waving them around on my fingers.”

“Actually, I would pay good money to see that,” Yelena grins.

“You couldn’t afford me,” you smirk back.

“I’m just saying,” she shrugs. “If you are already wearing them, you may as well show them off.”

Bucky keeps his eyes focused through the windshield as he reaches a hand up to flick a few switches and then engages autopilot. “No one is showing off anything.”

Yelena pouts, “Party pooper.”

You laugh and pull a tablet out from under your seat to get a head start on your mission report. You want to have it done before landing back at the Watchtower, that way you can go straight to your room immediately upon arrival.

You hit Submit on the tablet right as the jet touches down on the tower landing pad. Everyone clips out of their seats and prepares to disembark. With it being such a short mission, you just have your bare essentials. You grab your tactical bag with your emergency rations, first aid kit, and a few personal items, and toss it over your shoulder. Your eyes catch Bucky’s from across the jet. His gaze flashes with a look that makes your blood hot. You have to look away to keep your body from reacting.

This little cat-and-mouse game between the two of you is getting harder to keep concealed from the rest of the team. In the beginning, all the sneaking around was sort of fun, in a way. It was thrilling to see what you could get away with under the noses of literal assassins and enhanced individuals. But the problem with Bucky Barnes is that once you get a taste, you can’t help but crave more. Heated glances turn into feathered touches. Words whispered like secrets in empty halls change to incomprehensible cries of ecstasy. Stolen kisses in darkened corners become a frenzied exchange of body heat behind closed doors. The more he gives to you, the more you want of him. Like an insatiable hunger and an endless thirst. You’re very quickly approaching the limit of your ability to keep the secret of how much you want him.

Walker has already hit the mechanism to lower the back ramp, and you’re all but running off the jet as soon as it’s down. Bob and Alexei are already waiting for your return.

“How’d it go?” Bob asks, eyes darting between each of you to assure himself you’ve all returned safely.

“Fine,” Yelena gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Easy extraction, minimal complications.”

“Where are you off to in such hurry?” Alexei prompts as you breeze past them with only a nod of greeting.

“She has a date with her laundry hamper,” Ava smirks, vigilant eyes tracking your every move.

Alexei frowns in confusion. “If this is joke, I don’t get it.”

The rest of their conversation is cut off by the automatic doors shutting behind you once you’ve stepped off the landing pad and entered the building. You take the elevator to the dormitory level. A heavy sigh of relief bursts from your chest while the tension leaves your shoulders. Yelena was correct in saying that the mission had been easy, but you never take for granted being able to come home unscathed. In this line of work, there are no guarantees, so any time the whole team makes it back all in one piece, you can’t help the grateful relief that floods you as soon as you’re off the jet. You might all be one bad day away from an emotional trainwreck, but this dysfunctional family is yours, and you wouldn’t trade them for anything.

You step out of the elevator and walk down the hall to your room. Your laundry basket is sitting just behind the front door. Exactly where you left it before getting called into this last-minute opp. You glare at it with your hands on your hips, like it’s the basket’s fault you were put into your current predicament. With a huff, you unzip your tactical vest and hang it on a hook on the wall, then you kick off your boots and shrug out of your uniform, tossing it into the basket. You add your sports bra to the pile and pull on the oversized sweatshirt that had been tossed over the back of your couch.

You hike the laundry basket up onto your hip and step back out of your apartment. The dormitory level is still blissfully empty. Bucky is likely giving his post-mission debrief to Valentina and handing over the data package. Yelena and John always hit up the cafeteria after returning from missions, and they probably took Bob and Alexei with them. Ava tends to wind down after missions with a run on the treadmill in the gym. Your bare feet pad quietly on the polished floor as you make your way to the communal laundry room.

There are rows of washing machines on one side of the room and dryers lining the other, with a folding table and cabinet against the back wall. You set your basket down in front of one of the middle machines and go to grab your detergent and fabric softener from the cabinet. You’re bent over, loading your clothes into the front opening of the washer when you feel the sudden brush of cool metal fingers against your lower back.

“Are these the panties that had everyone in a tizzy today?”

You hadn’t realized, but the way you were bent over caused your sweatshirt to ride up and put your barely-there lacy thong on full display for whoever happened to be passing by. You gasp and attempt to dart up, not realizing that your head is still halfway in the opening of the washer. Pain explodes against the back of your skull when it hits the lip of the machine. You yelp from the pain, one hand clutching the back of your head, while you slowly extract yourself from the opening and stand back up.

The deep laugh behind you is both exasperated and amused. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

You rub at the sore spot and glare at him over your shoulder. “I find your lack of concern disturbing.”

His eyes actually sparkle when he grins. “Was that a reference from The Star War?”

You roll your eyes. “You know that’s not what it’s called. Also, no one says in a tizzy anymore.”

“I do.”

“Thanks for the reminder that I’m dating an old man.” You finish loading the last of your laundry and shut the door to the machine. You feel him press against your back while you get the machine into the correct setting and start it up.

“I’m young in all the ways that matter.” His words flutter against your ear, full of sin and promise.

You can’t help the shiver that runs through you, awareness creeping into your veins. “Yeah, and what ways are those?”

His hands come around you, pulling you even more against his chest before dipping under the hem of your sweatshirt, ghosting up your thighs and over your hips. “In the ways that make these work inappropriate panties damp.”

Your core throbs at the implication of his words. A needy whimper escapes you before you can stop it, your head falling back against his shoulder. His stubble tickles your skin when he places a kiss on your temple.

“You gonna tell me why you’re wearing date night panties on missions now?” There’s no accusatory inflection in his tone, just gentle curiosity and tender amusement. “Hoping to get lucky in between stealth crawls and shootouts?”

“No,” you scoff indignantly. “But someone keeps shredding or losing all my normal underwear, so I don’t have enough to get through a full laundry cycle.”

He hums thoughtfully, fingers tapping a rhythm only he hears against your lower abdomen. “Have you tried checking between the couch cushions?”

“Yes, actually. I found two of mine and one of yours.”

His laugh vibrates against your back. “And you didn’t return them to me?”

“They’re my sleep shorts now. Also, you still haven’t returned the ones that landed on top of your wardrobe.”

“Oh, I’m keeping those.” His voice dips low. Dangerous. “When you’re on missions without me, I wrap them around my cock and think about you while I fuck myself.”

“Jesus Christ.” If he wasn’t holding your body against his, you probably would have fallen into a puddle of goo on the floor. You turn around to face him and pin him with a glare. “You’re not playing fair.

He gives you a cheeky grin, entirely unashamed. “You’re the one wearing lingerie and waving your sexy ass in front of my face.”

You jab at his chest with your pointer finger. “You’re the whole reason I had to wear them, and you’re the one who snuck up on me. Now, not only are they uncomfortable, but they’re also wet, and it’s too late to throw them into my laundry.”

His eyes glow with pure male pride and wicked satisfaction. “If they’re that uncomfortable, then there’s a very simple solution.” His hands flex against your hips, and it's the only warning you get before he’s hoisting you up and onto the washing machine. He kicks your basket out of the way and stands in front of you. His fingers curl against the thin scrap of material before he pulls them down your thighs, revealing your glistening, pulsing folds, and the embarrassingly large wet patch on the inside of the fabric. After he’s pulled them completely off, he balls them up and shoves them, soaked and all, into the front pocket of his tactical pants.

He divested himself of the upper portion of his uniform before seeking you out, leaving him in a tight, navy undershirt with his dog tags hanging out. You hook your fingers around the chain and pull him in closer. “You going to keep those ones too?” You spread your knees to bracket his hips as he slots himself against you.

His eyes roam over your features like he’s trying to memorize you. “Maybe,” his mouth tilts into that adorable half smile that makes your knees weak.

You huff out a short laugh. “You’re staring,” you mutter quietly, as if speaking any louder might break the spell of this moment.

“I know,” he whispers back.

“Why?”

His gaze turns soft. “Because you’re beautiful.”

Your heart skips a beat. Only Bucky Barnes could have you literally dropping your panties for him one moment, then make your heart flutter with words so sweet, they make you want to cry, in the next. This is exactly why being with him is so dangerous. If it were just sex, that would be one thing, but when he says stuff like this, you can’t help but fall in love with him a little bit more.

“You know, you’ve gotten way better at flirting,” you tease after wrestling your wayward heart back under control.

He gives you an amused smile. “I wasn’t trying to flirt.”

You reach up to cup his face and pull him even closer to you. “Well, either way, it’s working.”

His chuckle ghosts over your lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, eyes falling shut moments before his mouth slants over yours.

You moan into his mouth, one hand sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck while the other curls around his shoulders. He sighs like he’s been waiting for this all day. His flesh hand grips the edge of your jaw, deepening the kiss. His metal fingers press into your lower back, holding your body tight against him. You feel the hard seam of his tactical pants against your unprotected pussy and whimper when the rough material catches against your clit. He sinks his teeth into your lower lip and grinds against you, either uncaring or utterly delighted by the mess you’re making against the fabric of his uniform. Probably the latter.

The washing machine vibrates under your ass, sending tremors right to the place where you’re grinding against Bucky’s clothed erection. His tongue slips into your open mouth, hot and wet and tasting like spearmint. He devours your moans like they’re sustaining his lifeforce. He kisses you like his very existence depends on leaving you shaking and wrecked and begging for more. It’s intense and makes your head spin.

When he pulls away, you’re left panting for breath and blink up at him blearily.

“Still uncomfortable?” he questions with a tilted smirk.

Your pussy clenches in hunger. “Yes, but now for entirely different reasons.”

He looks down and shifts his hips back enough to see the mess of slick and needy wetness splattered across the front of his pants. “Fuck, I love this messy pussy.”

You place your hands behind you against the top of the washing machine and lean back, spreading your thighs even further, and tilt your hips up, your body moving on instinct. “Bucky… please touch me.”

His responding chuckle is dark, laced with heavy want and yearning desire. “Now, how could I possibly say no to that?”

Vibranium fingertips drag across your skin, moving from your lower back to curl around your hip and down to your dripping center. The metal plates are no longer cold, having absorbed the body heat from your burning flesh. His fingers swipe over your slick folds, causing the simmering heat to bubble up low in your belly. He circles teasingly around your clit, never quite touching it, but close enough to have you keening. You’re so fucking wet, so fucking desperate, so fucking needy. And he relishes in it. In the way you beg for him, not only with your words, but with your eyes, and your body, and every fiber of your being.

Your lips part with a guttural cry when he finally pierces you with his middle finger. He sinks in all the way, without resistance, your body welcoming the intrusion with squelching fervor. He gives a few experimental thrusts, feeling how you squeeze and flutter around the single digit. After a few seconds, he adds his index finger. “Ah!” you gasp at the way his thick fingers stretch you out.

He watches your face closely, eyes lidded, pupils blown, while he fucks you with his vibranium fingers. He shoves them as deep as they’ll go, then curls them against your upper wall. “Fuck—Bucky—!” Your hips jolt against his palm of their own accord. That tight coil of pleasure deep in your gut thrums with energy.

He looks utterly delighted by the way you’re falling apart in front of him. “Careful, sweetheart, or you’ll alert the whole floor.”

Your wide eyes dart to the open doorway of the laundry room. Literally anyone could walk past and they’d have a front row view of you getting finger fucked by a metal-armed super soldier. Your breath hitches in your throat with a flicker of panic, but then your nipples tighten and your pussy clenches hungrily around Bucky’s fingers. Is it bad that you kind of want to get caught? Not because you want someone else to see you in this depraved state, but because then it would mean that being with Bucky would no longer be a secret. No more sneaking, no more waiting for a moment alone, no more trying to be quieter than the humming machine vibrating under your ass.

He must recognize the direction of your thoughts, because he tsks his tongue. “Someone’s having naughty thoughts.” He punctuates his words with another solid thrust of his fingers into that spongy place that shoots a jolt of pleasure directly up your spine.

“God—Bucky!” You can’t help but cry out his name again.

“You tryin’ to get caught?” He asks, that slow smirk spreading his lips. His wrist tilts a little, and then you feel the hard edge of his thumb press against your clit. He circles directly over the tight bundle like he’s trying to polish a penny.

Your teeth clamp down hard on your lower lip as you try and fail to keep your whimper inside you. “M-mm,” you shake your head in denial.

“Hey, only I’m allowed to bite that.” His voice is more tender than teasing as his other hand eases your lip from between your teeth. His thumb rubs gently over the swollen flesh, then pulls away. “Here.” His fingers then grip the bottom hem of your hoodie and drag the material up to your mouth. “Bite this.”

You’re so used to trusting his commands on missions that you don’t even question the order; you just do as he says. You don’t realize the dual function of his actions until he flashes you a satisfied grin and dips his head low over your freshly exposed chest. He sucks one peaked nipple into his waiting mouth and pinches the other between his thumb and forefinger. The fabric in your mouth muffles your groan of pleasure, but just barely.

The fingers inside your pussy don’t stop. If anything, they seem to work you even faster, curling into you like they’re holding down the trigger of an assault rifle. Expert marksman that he is, he knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows right where to press and how much pressure to apply to get you primed and ready for ignition. His thumb continues its barrage on your aching clit, occasionally swiping down near his other fingers to collect more of your slick. You’re so wet at this point that there’s an audible squelch with each movement of his fingers. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so turned on by it.

Bucky devours your breast like it’s the most delicious thing to ever pass his tantalizing lips. His tongue laps at your stiff bud as he sucks it deeper into his mouth. Leaving one of your hands back to keep you propped up, the other sinks into the hair at the nape of his neck. You cradle his neck, nails scratching encouragingly at the back of his scalp as you arch against him. He plucks, pulls, and tweaks at your other nipple in a way that shoots straight to your aching core. Your cunt practically drools from all the attention he’s showering over your body. The fabric in your mouth grows damp from your saliva.

The machine under you shifts into a higher gear, the drum spinning even faster, the vibrations kicking it up a notch. Bucky takes it as a personal challenge and increases his own pace. A third finger enters your body; your drenched, quivering walls, greeting it like an old friend. At this point, you’re not sure if the wet sounds filling the laundry room are coming more from you or the washing machine.

“Ngh!” Your teeth clamp down on the bunched fabric as a tremor travels down your legs. Bucky’s fingers thrust and pulse against your G-spot, the stimulation becoming too much to bear. They press and curl against that spongy tissue inside you, over and over, pushing the height of your pleasure further up with every overwhelming touch. Your brow furrows, muscles twitching in other parts of your body from the overstimulation. Something feels different this time, but you’re too overloaded with pleasure to be able to concentrate on anything long enough to figure out what. There’s almost too much pleasure that you feel like you’re about to burst. It presses against the inside of your skin, making it feel too tight, like there’s not enough room to contain it.

Your thighs shake, hips convulsing, breasts heaving. Every place that Bucky touches you feels like sparks scattering across your skin. You can’t take it anymore; it’s entirely too much. You have to let it out somehow, or you’re going to explode. Just as that thought crosses your mind, you feel the pressure intensify between your legs, before it bursts out of you like a broken fire hydrant. Liquid sprays in an arc, past Bucky’s fingers, and soaks immediately into the front of his shirt. The bottom of your sweatshirt falls out of your mouth as your jaw slackens, no longer muffling the wail of your pleasure in acoustic form. Your back arches and your hips jerk into his unrelenting touch. He makes you squirt again with a perfectly timed thrust into your sopping cunt.

“Fuck! Oh my God—Bucky!” Your entire world has tilted off its axis. Gravity is skewed; physics off balance; hell, even the law of thermodynamics could be reversed, for all you know. There’s only you, Bucky, and an endless ocean of pleasure and release.

His mouth gives a parting suck to your breast before he lifts his head to watch you fall apart. His eyes sparkle with wonder and awe, like he’s witnessing something holy and sacred. Like the offering he’s provided to his deity has been met with all the answers he was looking for. He’s been baptized in your pleasure and come out the other side as a new man.

Your legs still jolt with the aftershocks of your orgasm when Bucky carefully extracts his fingers. Wet metal leaves streaks against bare skin where he rubs soothingly against twitching muscles in your thigh. His flesh hand is a steadying weight against your rib cage, just under your pounding heart. Your sweatshirt is still bunched up to the armpits, leaving your heaving breasts on full display, one shiny with spit, the other still achingly hard. You look like a downright mess, but by the look in Bucky’s eyes, you’ve never felt more beautiful. In an unhinged, debauched sort of way…

He glances down at his soaked shirt, then back at you. “Didn’t know you could do that.” His mouth curls into that half smile again.

The embarrassment hits you nearly as hard as the orgasm. “Didn’t know either. I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t be.” He cuts in before you can spiral into your mortification. He cups the back of your neck, flesh fingers massaging the base of your skull. “I’m already coming up with 37 ways that I can get you to do it again.”

You scoff, half incredulous, half in relief that he’s not mad or disgusted. In fact, he looks quite pleased with himself instead. “Only 37?”

His grin turns positively feral. “I’m sure more will come to me in time.”

“That’s not the only thing coming.” The two of you share a laugh at the innuendo. “We should probably get out of here before the team comes back.” You try to be the voice of reason, but with the way you’re still clinging onto him, your mind and body appear to be at odds.

His eyes flicker between yours. “Mine or yours?” Clearly, he’s not done with you either.

You smile back. “You have a bigger shower.”

He lifts you off the washing machine and carries you down the hall to his personal suite. You’re grateful that the dorm level is still empty, since your bare ass is definitely in full view. Discarded clothing litters the floor of Bucky’s bathroom, steam making the air thick. Hot skin presses to cold tile, both slick with water and soapy suds. He kisses you long and slow, like someone who doesn’t need to worry about their water bill. Your fingers card through his wet hair, made soft by conditioner and smelling of rosemary and peppermint.

He hikes your knee higher up against his hip and rocks into you like he has all the time in the world. Rivulets of water drip down his chest and mix with the wetness from where he’s buried inside you. All the tension from the day has melted from his shoulders and now circles the shower drain. Your heady moans and breathy mewls echo around the space, making him feel like he’s entirely surrounded by you. He kisses your neck and shoulders reverently, worshiping the body that means more to him than his own. He thrusts into your moist heat, feeling every shudder, clench, and squeeze of your cunt around his cock.

There’s no rush. No frenzied urgency to reach the end. Just two bodies moving as one, skin hot, eyes glassy. Shared breath, nimble kisses, lingering touches. It’s more than sex. It’s souls intertwining. He doesn’t say it with words, but you feel his love, breathe his devotion. He’s attentive and careful, making sure you’re right there with him, every step of the way. He doesn’t treat you like a tool. He thrives off your pleasure as much as his own.

He sinks into you, as deep as he can get, and grinds his pelvic bone into your clit. He recaptures your mouth, tongues tangling, tasting, and consuming your pleasure. Your next orgasm rolls into you like rumbling thunder, not quite as sharp and sudden as lightning, but no less powerful. Bucky grunts low in his chest as your pussy clamps down around him. A few sloppy thrusts later, and he’s spilling into you, thick milky cum painting your walls white.

He continues to hold you close, chin resting against your damp hair, his skin turning pink from a combination of the hot water and postcoital bliss. You press your cheek to his chest while you attempt to catch your breath, fingers tracing the gold patterns on his shoulder. You listen to his heartbeat as it steadily evens out; his recovering much faster than yours. Words aren’t needed to fill the silence. Everything’s already been said in other ways.

Metal fingers slowly lower your lifted knee off his hip, then travel up your outer thigh and settle at your waist. They follow the trails of water droplets in reverse, like they’re jealous of the tracks those droplets have left behind and want to cover your skin in traces of their own. His fingers leave behind marks that can’t be seen physically, but they’re painted on your soul.

You’re not sure how long you spend wrapped up in each other. And thanks to the great mind of Tony Stark, the hot water in this building is practically limitless. The bathroom is starting to turn into a sauna by the time you and Bucky finally part and finish cleaning yourselves up. He wraps a large, extra fluffy towel around your shoulders and makes sure it’s secure before casually wrapping one loosely around his waist.

A cloud of steam billows out as soon as the bathroom door is opened. You follow Bucky into his bedroom, using the edge of your towel to scrunch your hair dry. He opens one of his drawers and pulls out a Henley he knows is your favorite. Then he opens a different drawer and pulls out a set of boxer briefs and a pair of undies. He casually hands you the shirt and undies, then drops his towel and pulls on the briefs.

Your brow furrows in confusion. You lift the panties up, leaving the fabric to dangle from your fingers. “These aren’t mine…”

He bends down to grab his towel once more and dabs at the water droplets on his chest, barely even glancing at the underwear in question. “They’re new.”

You blink several times in shock, probably looking a little too much like that one guy in the meme. You look at the drawer Bucky pulled these out of, then back at him. “You bought me new underwear?”

He smiles, half sheepish—half cheeky, all charming. “I figured you were getting low.”

You give him an incredulous look, but have to laugh. “And you couldn’t have told me earlier?” You pull his Henley on and then drop your own towel. You step into your new panties and pull them up your legs. They fit perfectly. Comfortable, soft, just the way you like it.

“I’m telling you now.” Humor makes his eyes sparkle like gemstones.

You reach for the side of his face and pull him in for a kiss. “Thank you,” you mumble against his lips.

“My pleasure,” he breathes before kissing you back. He cradles your face between his hands, holding you so gently, you’d never guess what sort of gruesome things those very hands had been forced to do in another life. His nose brushes against yours, lips ghosting across your cheek. There’s a brief moment when you feel him seem to hesitate before his lips part and he speaks. “I want to tell the team.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “What?” You search his eyes, wondering if he’s truly saying what you think he’s saying.

He looks back, like he’s searching for the same thing in your eyes. “I want to tell them about us.”

You suck in a harsh breath. Yes, he is definitely saying what you thought he was saying. You stare up at him, eyes wide, and suddenly you’re envisioning everything you’ve been desperately trying not to for months. Cuddles on the couch during movie nights. Giggling at the breakfast table, stealing each other’s toast and coffee. Flirting openly during sparring sessions. No more hiding, no more sneaking, no more dark corners.

“…Or not?” Bucky frowns when you don’t respond to his proposal.

“No!” you shout unnecessarily loud, given your proximity. “I mean, yes—I mean…” You take a breath and try to steady yourself. You place your hands on his chest and meet his gaze straight on. “I want to tell the team, too.”

His mouth lifts into a tilted smile, eyes going soft and tender. “Yeah?”

You smile back, your heart pounding in excitement. “Yeah,” you confirm.

“We should probably prepare ourselves, then. The teasing is about to become insufferable.”

You laugh openly. “Well, then we can just start making out obnoxiously until they all get uncomfortable and leave.”

He chuckles back. “I like the way you think.”

You share another heated kiss before you pull away with a groan. “I need to go move my laundry.”

“I’ll go with you,” he offers immediately.

You shoot him with a dubious expression. “I’ll be back in like five minutes.”

He looks back solemnly. “That’s entirely too long.”

You scoff in amusement and begin heading for the front door of his suite. “Who knew metal-armed super soldiers were so needy?”

“The neediest,” he confirms.

You push open the front door and stumble out into the hall with Bucky’s arm around your waist and half glued to your back. You’ve barely taken two steps when the ding of the elevator has you freezing in place. There’s no time to react before the doors open, revealing all the remaining members of the team. They stare at the two of you, and you both stare back. Time suddenly comes to a screeching halt. A beat passes, then two.

Bucky’s arm tightening around your waist snaps you out of it right before he lifts you up and turns his back toward the team, shielding you from view. “Don’t look. She’s indecent.”

You gawk and sputter for words. “You’re wearing even less than I am!” you protest, fidgeting in his hold.

“I knew it!” Yelena screams in validation. Her hand darts out to stop the elevator doors from closing as she points at you both accusingly with the other. “I knew you were making kissy faces at each other when you thought we weren’t looking!”

“Ah…” Ava makes a sound like she’s just reached a profound conclusion. “Now the box of women’s underwear that was delivered to Barnes makes more sense.”

“You looked through my packages?!” Bucky glares incredulously over his shoulder.

She shrugs casually. “More like phased through them. Security protocol. And personal curiosity.”

Everyone pauses for a second, minds scrambling to figure out what packages of theirs might have been discovered by Ava.

Bob clears his throat and raises his hand before speaking. “I accidentally heard the two of them in a compromising position through the wall once.”

Ava narrows her eyes and points toward him. “Noise canceling headphones?” She guesses, recalling the purchase he made a few weeks back.

He flushes in embarrassment and nods. “Yep… got those after it happened.”

You want the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Alexei laughs heartily and goes next. “I saw lipstick stain on Barnes’ neck at fundraising gala. Same shade as what she was wearing,” he gestures toward you.

“Wait…” John looks around the group. “So, am I the only one that didn’t know about this?”

“Yes,” they all collectively respond.

“Oh my God…” you groan behind your hands as you cover your face in mortification. So much for thinking you were getting away with this the whole time.

“Well, on the bright side,” Bucky starts, whispering directly into your ear. “Looks like we don’t have to tell them.”

“Yeah, you think?!”

[d1onysusw1n3]

You know sasuke would’ve congratulated the girl for her determination. Always hitting on him, but not in the normal squealing girly way. No you were different. Lingering touches setting aflame in his stomach. Long sensual eye contact that made his jaw clench. Shit. He couldn’t handle it. The boy unconsciously developed a small crush on you, though he denied it as just a craving, the need to have his way with you, if you will.

And you, well of course you knew the boy was in kahoots for you. Your long black hair, your piercing red eyes, your tall thick legs. Shit you were above the normal curvy size in Japan. And one day after play flirting with the uchiha boy, you found out.

He’s a secret pervert.

I mean it makes sense. He seems cold, calculating, callous even. But he is a hormonal young man, and no matter what the brain says, the body may say differently. It seemed foreign to you, that the boy would be so innocent, at least in that way. He always had a trail of girls flocking over his deep dark looks. He reminded you of the strong smell of coffee beans in the mornings. Something you can’t quite shake until you’re out of the area.

Man was he captivating.

so you vowed to yourself, that you’d try cracking that small shell the uchiha locked himself in. The more your relentless flirting with the boy happened, smooth words as soft as silk. He melted like butter under your tongue. But he’d never admit that. When you joined his team, he was quick to stick himself to you. Though he brushed it off as, you being quite humorous at times, and annoying. He found comfort in you, especially since you acted like a certain hard headed blond he knew.

“Sasukeeeee” you trail on groaning his name whilst dramatically throwing yourself on his back.

“I’m tired carry me!!” You muse.

“…no.” Sasuke huffed. He acted annoyed by your childish antics. On the inside his stomach was roaring blazing flames, especially when your chest pressed up against his back like that.

You guys just finished a mission on gathering intel. The long walk home to the base was killing your feet. And you could tell he was getting tired as well. It was night fall and you all were still walking. Karin would sometimes throw nasty looks at you, knowing damn well every time you talked to sasuke, you would shamelessly flirt with him.

And boy could Karin talk on and on about you. How you use and pass around boys as if they were placed on this earth for your torment. How your strong and overbearingly funny personality draws people in. Your beautiful hour glass body and amazing looks. The way you captivate everyone’s gaze even when you mutter the smallest word. She couldn’t pin point how you did that. Maybe it was the curiosity of what lies behind the crossed out headband and you wore over your eyes due to your powerful kekkei Genkai.

She found you irritating and so attractive. And maybe that irritated her even more. Actually, it drove her crazy.

“Hey how about we stop here for some food!” Karin points to a small club with a bar and food, 24 hour service.

“We are not stopping in some, criminal club.” Sasuke sasses with a deeper frown. The boy has lost all patience, as if he had any in the first place.

“I say it’s worth a shot man, I’m starving” suigetsu claps a hand over sasukes back walking into the club with Karin. Sasuke sighs as he continues to walk home. He wasn’t expecting to hear your tall heels clacking with him. He turned his eyes to the side of him, finding you twirling one of your long hairs in your finger while aimlessly looking off into the darkness of the woods.

“You didn’t have to follow me, usually when they go out, isn’t that when you thirst over some new boy toy.” Sasuke almost spit that sentence out like hot venom. It aggravated him that you aren’t his and his only, but he wouldn’t make the first move. Because he has to get revenge. Though one of his goals were to restore his clan, so maybe.

The black eyed boy sighed shaking his head at the thought. Maybe in due time he would, but for now he has one goal.

“We’re here, finally” your pretty glossy lips pout as your shoulders drop in defeat. Man were you tired.

You both walk in taking off your robes hanging them on the rack in front of the door. You walk all the way to a lounge room. Sasuke himself sat down on the couch.

When you walked back in you seen sasuke plop down on the couch. He sighed as he sunk down in the soft pillows slowly spreading his legs open making himself comfortable. He had his head laying on the back of the couch with his eyes closed and arms crossed. He looked so ethereal. And peaceful.

You click and clack all the way over to him. Two drinks in your hand. You sit close to him, but just close enough for your knee to be touching his. Crossing your legs you offer him a drink. And he couldn’t help but to accept.

He’s not a usual drinker, as he is very anal about his body and what he puts in it. Even more about his environment and how it needs to be clean and organized.

“You uh, did good today.”

You raised you eyebrows at the man next to you. Surprised he was starting conversation.

“Well you’re not that bad yourself, captain.” You clink your glass against his. He had hard liquor in his glass. As you, the princess fixed yourself a margarita with sugar around the rim, not salt. And a cute little lime on the edge.

GOD it drove him crazy. you were just so strong and you always know what you want. Your upbeat and childish attitude makes him go crazy because he wants to hate it. But he can’t help but to smile or even chuckle under his breath at the things you do. You balanced him out perfectly.

And that nickname. You started calling him captain. he can’t help but to feel a spark down his spine.

“Mm” sasuke grumbled his eyes low and breath heavy. He didn’t know what it was. Maybe the alcohol and the fact he’s a lightweight. But he felt bold tonight. Especially since he knew the other guys would be out till three in the morning. It happens every time.

He turns to you as you finish the rest of your drink slowly licking some of the sweet sugar off the rim of your glass. He couldn’t help but to reach out wrapping a small delicate grip on your wrist, throwing a lazy arm around ur hips. He leans in, and moving real close to your face.

Though he smirks as he goes in to lick the rest of the sugar on ur margarita glass. Rolling your eyes you chuckle pushing him back to lay in the cushions again.

“You jerk.” You stick your tongue out at him. He smirks at you, a devilish one, and it only meant no good.

“You know you love it, shush” he quipped back licking his lips. His arm was still around your hips loosely from when he leaned in, and he wasn’t moving any time soon.

“So what’s with the knew and improved sasuke.” You question his weird attitude. He just shrugs it off shaking his head.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, princess.”

you have never felt such a need to jump this man’s bones this strong until now.

“Princess huh? Cheeky for such a stone face like yourself.” You lean in tilting your head to the side.

“Something about you makes me go crazy. What can I say”

He sits up directing you to get up and sit in his lap. You both throw flirty remarks back and fourth, slowly teasing eachother, a silent game of ‘who will cave first’

He would drag his big calloused hands up and down your figure. Anywhere he can touch. Up your thighs, squeezing your hips, up your torso, slotting his thumbs just under the cuff of your boob.

And you yourself were no angel. As you threw your arms around his neck combing through the back of his hairs, trailing your hands down his broad chest and abs.

You got a little cheeky and decided to snake your hands to his zipper undoing it. You slowly trail a finger over all his detailed abs, and finally his V-line.

Fuck that sent him off the edge, he leans in hiding his warm face in your neck groaning at the feeling in his chest as his dick throbbed against his cloths.

“You okay? Captain.” He realized he could never win at this game. He was new to it, you’ve been in this court way longer.

“Your driving me crazy princess” sasuke huffs pressing a wet kiss to the curve of your jaw.

and he wanted to treat you like a princess. He would give you whatever you needed right here if you asked for it.

“Then do something about it.” You challenged him. Testing the waters to see if he’d actually ever would make a move on you. Bitting your lip in anticipation, your thighs rubbed up against eachother in desperate need of attention. An aching need in your core that was heating up by the second, and he was the only man that could scorch out its warm flames.

He didn’t waste anytime taking his hand and grabbing your jaw with it. Making you look right at him. If it was anyone else you would fuck them into a storm. But it was him.

And you wanted nothing but for him to throw you around like a rag doll, for him to destroy you inside out.

He presses his lips to yours, kissing you as if you’d disappear into dust. He held such a hunger for you in his stomach it felt like he was soaring once your lips were against his. He wasn’t a romantic, he found himself afraid of intimacy ever since his brother went rogue. Though he ignored every warning sign in his body for you. Shit he’s felt this way for other woman, but his mind always told him no. But you, he could tell his princess no? Tha’d just be cruel, and all he wants is to please you.

He starts trailing sloppy hungry kisses down your jaw sucking and biting in any skin he touches. You were going to be covered in blue and purple welts by the time he was done with you, so everyone knew that you were his, and nobody else’s.

“Fuck, I need you, please captain.” You look up at him through those pretty eyelashes. He couldn’t resist. He smoothly lays you down in the couch in the middle of the hideout. If any of them were to walk in they would see such a sight.

You fully clothed as the uchiha had discarded his shirt a while ago only in the bottom parts of his clothes. His clothed dick pressed firmly against your soaking pussy, rocking back and fourth in desperate need of any friction. Everything about it was so fucking hot to you. The fact that you both could get caught in a heartbeat, such a lude and dirty scene.

The uchiha takes his time. Even though his body was aching to ruin you. He wanted to tease you. Get a little bit of payback from all those nights he spent fucking his fist to the thought of you. Slowly he takes off your clothes, one by one. Sliding his hands up your abdomen to your round perky tits. Taking a handful as he plays with your nipple, slowly teasing his thumb over them.

You arch your back up against him in need.

“Please I need you so bad, ruin me, please, please.”

Fuck the way you begged just set a fire within him. It pleased him. Something so sadistic as feeling in control for once in his life. Wether he chooses to pleasure you or to leave you soaking wet of what if’s.

“As you wish” he hums slowly ducking his head between your thighs. He’s never ate a woman out before, but since it’s you, he wants to try everything he could.

Slowly he drags his tongue up and down the slot of your pussy, giving extra attention to your throbbing clit. He couldn’t contain in excitement and dove right into you, eating you like you were his favorite meal and he was a malnourished man. Drinking in your very soul, he would never imagine that giving your pleasure would turn him in so much.

You snake your hands through his thick black hair, slightly tugging and pulling at him as you grind your hips up into his nose. He didn’t mind it, he just wanted to make you see stars. He slowly stretched you out with one of his thick fingers your tight pissy clenching a vice grip around him as he drags his thick length in and out of you, even curling his finger to massage your g spot. You felt like your body was ascending, you don’t think you have ever experienced such a feeling.

“Mm fuck, yes, s-sasuke!” You were loud, your scandalous and pornographic moans rang loud throughout the base. You wrap ur legs around his head, your orgasm finally crashing in wonderful full waves. Your body jerked with electricity as your core pulsed around his thick fingers. You couldn’t help but to wail, your eyes rolling so far behind your head you’re pretty sure you could see your own brain.

“Fuck, holy shit.” You gasp. Slowly your orgasm calms but that, that was magic. He pulls out his thick cock, pulsing with a small coat of precum on his red and bothered tip. He takes it, dragging it up and down ur pussy. That first orgasm was just a taste and you wanted so much more.

He slides in slowly inch by inch until he bottoms out. And if this man wasn’t pussy whipped from just one stroke, then he could’ve fooled you. Because once he was fully in the most throaty guttural moan escaped from his chest. Shit it was so enticing.

“Princess you keep squeezing so tight around me I’m, mn, not gonna make it long.” He paints and whines. You couldn’t help it. The once cold and rude sasuke thrusting deep into you slowly grinding against your g spot. It was a fever dream.

He pulls out slowly dragging back in. Throwing his head back his mouth gaped and brows furrowed his gut burned as he picked up the pace. Soon enough your moans were both tangled in each other. He was fucking the life out of you, deep and fast strokes that never faltered once. His stamina was out of the world, all that training really did a number on him.

He noticed the way you arched your back, the way your tits bounced with every rough stroke he delivered to your core,feeling like ecstasy. He pulled out quickly filling you to ur stomach. He hadn’t even pushed himself in again, yet you were already moaning, your ass up in the air as he forced your head down into the pillows. When he slides in you curl, arching your back against him. He reached a deep part in your pussy, one that you didn’t even think it was possible to reach, he felt it, the way your pussy was wrapped around his cock, suffocating him in the best way possible.

“Mhm, so fucking tight for me, all this for me, you feel so good around me.” He whimpers as you clench around him again. All of his filthy words giving you fuel.

You feel the edge of your orgasm teasing you just building and building waiting for it to crash. Sasuke pulls you up. Your back pressed to his chest. He starts fucking you at an inhumane speed, he was so deep in you, swear you could feel a bulge in your tummy every time he would brutally thrust into you.

“Fuck, almost, hah, gonna cum.” Sasuke manages to huff out. “Cmon princess, cum around my cock.”

As if he said the magic words himself. Your orgasm finally crashed, you lest put a throaty moan. Clenching down so hard on his poor dick he felt like it would explode.

“P-Pull out.” You tremble out as you feel his cock pulse. “C-Can’t I’m sorry!” Sasuke whines pulling you down onto his cock as he pumps a deep load into you, painting your walls white. Your mouth opens as you panic about the next nine months.

(I’m sorry he would have weak ass pullout game!!)

“Fuck I’m sorry-“ sasuke mind renders blank as he starts to panic I himself, he can’t have a child yet, he still hasn’t accomplished what he dedicated his whole life too.

“Sasuke calm down. We’ll figure it out, I know a baby is not the first thing on ur mind so, if push comes to shove I’ll raise it until you are ready.” You reassure him turning around to look at his reaction.

“No. I’ll be there I promise, I just, itachi.” Sasuke sighs and he sits nav on the couch. I play with his bands twirling then around my hand. Just because I was board, what I didn’t expect was for him to gently grab my hand, placing a chaste kiss to the back of it.

“If it’s a girl, I want to name her sarada.” He stated with the smallest smile. A genuine one.

“Sarada will do captain.” I smirk kissing him in the cheek.

“Hey! Thar was my feet’s you stepped on, you! You! Aw shit, what’s the uh words, inspection! No uh that ain’t rigfth, uh, IMBECILE YES! HAHAAA!!”

We heard a drunk jugo yell at the front door. Me and sasuke both jump up scrambling our clothes, as soon as we picked everything up he started to run to his room. And I would’ve ran to mine, but thanks to him my legs gave out.

“Sasuke!” I whisper yell to him as my legs shake in place. He runs back over in just enough time to throw me over his shoulders and run off to his room again. Due to the drunk idiots outside the door, they didn’t notice a thing, and It took five minutes for suigetsu to realize the small metal keychain in the shape of a oval wasn’t the key.

“Homeeee!!” Karin yells whilst jumping face down ong the couch.

Meanwhile:

“You okay there?” Sasuke smirks as pride welled up in his chest. After all the side flings you’ve had, you always come back bored or unsatisfied. Well the image of you naked on his bed as your legs shake like an earth quake, you can say was a good moment for him.

“Shuaddup” you huffed rolling yourself under his covers closing your eyes to sleep. He sneaks under, grabbing ur waist while pulling you to his chest. “Your mine now, got it?” He mumbled to the back of your head. “Yes Captain.” You mumble back falling into a dreamless sleep.

[whateversawesome]

Spy x Family Ch. 120: At Long Last!!

As many of you, I'm over the moon Yor finally admitted she has feelings for Loid. Everything since the chapter in which she went drinking with the office girls to the last chapter when she had a date with Loid had slowly but surely pointed out that Yor has fallen in love with Loid and I am so glad Endo decided to pull the trigger on that 😌

Remember the fake and the real twiyor moment? On my past analysis, I told you the fake moment happened when they held hands. I wasn't sure whether we would get a real twiyor moment, but we did. It's this one:

This means that Yor carries Loid in her heart 😌

In case you missed the post about Fake Twiyor Moment and Real Twiyor Moment, let me catch you up: a fake moment usually happens for appearances and it's what a "normal" couple should do, like holding hands. A real twiyor moment is perhaps non-traditional but it's something that brings them closer together (you can see other examples of this here.) As you can see, this moment, even though Loid isn't even in the same room, brought them closer together.

Now, where do we go from here?

It's a huge advancement for Yor's character to finally acknowledge her feelings for Loid. And not only that, she also knows perfectly well that these are romantic feelings *giggles*

Here, Anya tries to understand what her mama means by comparison hehe. By the way, what a beautiful thing was to see that Yor is able to talk sincerely about her feelings with Anya. It's a reflection of their mother-daughter relationship; these two are really close.

Yor knows she has romantic feelings for Loid, she understand that it's different from the love Anya feels for her papa, which is fantastic. She's being completely honest with herself!!

However, as of right now, Yor doesn't plan on acting on her feelings and that's okay. It's still brand new and she still has some growing to do before she finally gets that welcome home kiss 😊

In my opinion, it's a good thing that she's taking things slowly because her husband is not ready for any of that yet. (Let's face it, the man is at flight risk 😂)

Here's what I think it's going to happen:

I fully expect Yor to act flustered around Loid and think about him and her feelings A LOT. She will struggle a lot with this because she'll probably want to respect Loid's boundaries because she thinks he doesn't see her like a possible true romantic partner. HOWEVER...

Twilight is already distracted by her behavior and after this chapter we know that he will get closer to Yor to try to get to know her better in an attempt to keep her in the marriage "for the mission" 😆

Although he denies it, he already has feelings for her and spending more time with her is only going to make those feelings grow stronger. Same applies for Yor.

It's very logical: what happens when you spend a lot of time with someone you are in love with? You fall deeper in love.

Theory Time!

At some point, I think Yor, after spending a lot of time with her husband, will feel more confident and may think that she has a chance with Loid. If this happens, my theory is that she will confess and maybe even kiss him. This is pure speculation, but it makes sense for her character arc.

As for Twilight, I fully expect him to remain in complete denial until the day his wife finally confesses and kisses him. Don't get me wrong, we'll probably see plenty of signs of him being in love but he won't be able to see it.

This could potentially become dangerous for the relationship because once Twilight realizes it, it's going to hit him hard. We're talking about a guy who constantly tells himself he should not feel anything because he's nothing but a tool to achieve peace.

I suspect (and again, remember this is still pure speculation) that when Yor finally tells Loid that she loves him, he is going to reject her, precisely because he's in love with her.

Think about it. The first time he thought she had feelings for him, his immediate reaction was to set a honey trap. I believe he felt attracted to her, but he also wanted to use her and take advantage of her feelings. So, when this happens again, and he knows for sure she does love him, his own feelings will prevent him from using her...because he loves her!!

But it's still going to take a long time for that to happen (probably closer to the climax of the story) So, for now, let's just enjoy this amazing chapter 😊

[koyagifs]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

pairing: sylus x non mc!reader genre: angst with no comfort word count:1.4k summary: you've always prided yourself with being one of sylus closest informant & casual fuck buddy until little miss hunter came into his life and ruined it.. warning(s):

You were always proud of your place at Sylus’ side.

Not his partner — you never let yourself dream that far. But you were closer to him than anyone else in this tangled web of danger and deception. His trusted informant in the shadows, slipping him intel before anyone else even caught wind of the trail. His companion in dark corners, in silk sheets and stolen moments, where duty blurred into something that felt almost like affection — almost.

You told yourself it was enough. It had to be enough. Until she showed up.

You remember the day you first told Sylus about her. You were so proud of yourself. So eager to impress him with your sharp eyes, your quick thinking. His loyal informant, always two steps ahead of the game. Always bringing him the next puzzle piece, the next target, the next name on a list of shadows.

Her name had been just another one to you. A whisper in a back alley, a sliver of information pried loose with blood and sweat. You delivered it to him with your usual smirk, expecting nothing more than a nod, a mission brief, maybe even a reward between tangled sheets later that night.

You didn’t know then. You didn’t know she would be the one to catch his attention, not just as a useful tool, but as something more.

You hate yourself for it. At first, it was guilt that gnawed at your insides — a sickening, sour taste every time you saw her. You hated that you hated her, this girl you’d never met, who’d done nothing wrong except exist in the place you once stood. You tried to bury it. You tried to be better.

But little by little, the guilt rotted into something colder. Sharper.

You stopped caring if it made you a villain. Because the truth was simple, brutal, undeniable: she took your place. The place you bled for. Fought for. The place you believed was yours — not by right, no, you were never that naïve — but by merit. By loyalty. By the weight of every secret you’d carried for him in silence.

Now, you watch them from the shadows, her at his side, him looking at her the way you always wanted him to look at you — and there’s no guilt left. Only fire. Only hate, burning in the hollow of your chest.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to wonder if you should’ve let her name die in your throat that day.

You used to know his routines by heart. The quiet hours of dawn when Sylus would sit by the window, nursing a cup of bitter coffee as you lazily draped yourself across his couch — his couch, your couch, home. You used to think you belonged there.

But that was before. Before she started leaving her things scattered around his place like little markers of territory. Before Sylus came home late one night, his eyes stormy, his voice clipped and cold as he told you to pack your things.

You didn’t argue. You told yourself you were too proud to beg. But the truth was, you were too heartbroken to speak at all.

Now, your own home feels like a cage. Too quiet, too empty. Your days blur into one long stretch of silence, only broken by the echoes of memories you can't seem to drown out.

You used to run missions by Sylus' side, your reports the first thing he’d read, your voice the one he trusted in the field. Now, it’s Luke and Kieran. You catch glimpses of them in briefings you were never invited to, hear their voices crackling through comms you no longer carry. They don’t look at you anymore. They barely even acknowledge you exist.

And it hurts, gods, it hurts— Because the twins, they were yours too, in a way. Your partners-in-crime, your shadowed companions. You shared more than missions; you shared laughs, sharp and breathless after surviving something that should’ve killed you all. You used to steal moments between chaos, teasing jabs and half-smiles, and nights out where you pretended — just for a little while — that you were normal.

Now those moments belong to her.

The late-night drinks, the quiet dinners, the inside jokes you built from the ground up— They're hers, all hers.

You wonder if they tell her the same stories they once told you. If they laugh the same way. If they even remember you were once the one who stood at their side, a blade drawn in the dark, their equal in every way that mattered.

The stem of the glass is cold between your fingers, condensation trailing down to your skin as you lift it to your lips. The champagne tastes sharp, but you barely register it. For a fleeting moment, it almost feels normal — just you, the twins’ easy banter in the background, a gathering that once would have ended with laughter and familiar touches. You let yourself pretend. Just for a breath. Just long enough to imagine it’s still you at Sylus’ side, still you in their eyes.

Then Sylus’ voice crackles through your earpiece, snapping the illusion clean in two.

"Do you see them?"

His voice is as steady as ever, but you know him too well. There’s tension there, tightly wound beneath the polished exterior. You recognize it instantly. You always have.

Your eyes sweep across the crowd, trained from years of knowing exactly what to look for. And there they are.

Your chest tightens.

"They just arrived," you reply softly, keeping your tone level, professional — even as your throat threatens to close.

Across the room, you spot her.

Sylus had his arm wrapped around her waist, casually bantering with someone.

You force your gaze away. Focus. Focus on the mission.

There’s a beat of silence in your earpiece. Longer than it should be.

Then, his voice again — quieter this time, almost thoughtful. "Good. Keep your distance."

As if you needed the reminder. As if you could ever get close again.

"Copy," you answer, your voice cool, detached. But inside, something is unraveling. A bitter twist in your chest, an ache that never seems to fade.

You drain the rest of your champagne in a single swallow, the bubbles stinging your throat. The gown clings to you like a second skin, beautiful and suffocating all at once. Tonight, you wear the mask well.

-

You don’t even remember how you ended up outside on the balcony, the cold biting at your skin, the wind tugging at the edges of your gown, the city lights below a blur of indifference. They keep flashing — all those little lives, the people moving on with their mundane little stories. You can’t help but feel disconnected from it all.

The earpiece is sitting on the edge of the balcony, discarded like another useless thing you’ve thrown away. Like everything you’ve lost.

You should be thinking about the mission. About the mess that’s left behind. But you can’t. You’re too tired to care.

Tears streak down your face. You don’t try to stop them. The cold wind makes them sting, but you barely feel it.

Everything that you’ve done, everything that’s happened, it’s all leading to this moment — this suffocating silence. You’ve done your part. You’ve torn it all down, just like they wanted, just like you wanted. But the emptiness? The hollow ache that follows? No one prepared you for this.

The sob that escapes you is quiet, but it feels like it rips through you. Your chest aches, a sharp, guttural pain that echoes with everything you’ve lost — with everything you never really had.

You were never really his, you realize now. Not truly. Not the way you wanted to be. Not the way you used to believe you could be. Sylus was never yours to keep.

You wipe your tears away, but they just keep coming. It’s useless. You’re beyond the point of pretending to be fine. And even if you weren’t, it wouldn’t matter.

You hiccup, pressing your palm to your mouth to stifle the sound, but it doesn’t help. You don’t care anymore. The tears spill over, a quiet, broken release that echoes into the wind.

You’re not sure how long you stay out there — crying, shivering, fighting the overwhelming pull of despair that threatens to swallow you whole. The wind cuts through your gown like a reminder that you have no one left to offer warmth. No one left to stand beside you.

Sylus is gone. The mission is over. And you are, too.

taglist: @rjreins @ssacredd @gigikubolong29 @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @rena0921 @futurecorpse92 @fox-and-badger

[luvendiary]

nice to meet you / f. weasley

fred weasley x f!reader

summary: you and fred weasley keep getting introduced. you decide to play along, but secrets carry a burden of their own. a/n: this came to me in a dream. i had some trouble writting it, but i really like the end result. hope you like it as much. also, sorry that i can't put out fics as often as before. i'm doing an internship and i get home absolutely wrecked. i still write because it's what i love. 9.9k words. no use of y/n. not proof-read. suggestive content (no smut).

Your parents’ work had always been a ticking clock.

When the move to England became official, it didn’t come with much fanfare — just a quiet knock on your door, a soft-spoken apology, and the usual promises: "It’ll be good for all of us," "It’s only for a few years," "Hogwarts has a wonderful reputation."

You didn’t protest. Not out loud. You just started folding your life into boxes again, familiar with the routine by now. America had been the longest stretch you’d stayed anywhere, and you’d actually liked it. Your school. Your friends. The way things felt… settled.

But your parents’ research was being relocated to London, and with it, your last years of magical education.

So now, here you were. In a borrowed room with a suitcase still half-unpacked. Trying to adjust to everything feeling slightly off: the weather, the accent, the way people said “reckon” like it was a completely normal word.

Angelina Johnson was the only familiar face in the mess of it. You’d known her loosely through family connections—her mum and yours had trained together at one point—and she’d been quick to offer you some kind of lifeline.

“It’ll be fun!” Angelina insisted as she curled her eyelashes. Her mouth was slightly open, and she sported a really focused expression.

You stared at her through the mirror with a cynical expression. It wasn’t that you didn’t like parties —in fact, you loved them— but it wouldn’t be the same without people you liked being around.

“I’ll sit this one out,” you said as you tried to go back to reading your book. 

The next thing you knew, she was crawling on the bed and had closed your book. “Please…” she said as she pouted.

“I won’t know anyone there…” you whined as you moved your legs, trying to kick her off of you.

She persisted. Probably the Quidditch player in her.

“You’ll know me!” she said as she practically jumped off the bed and started rummaging through your half-empty closet.

You sighed. You knew this was a lost battle.

Angelina had that look in her eye now — focused, determined, borderline smug. She flung open the mirrored closet doors like she was leading a mission, muttering to herself as she flipped through hangers.

“Too frilly… too boring… you didn’t pack this, did you?”

“I did,” you said dryly from the bed.

She pulled out a short velvet dress and held it up like it was holy. “This.”

You stared. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

You groaned, flopping back into the pillows. “I’m wearing jeans.”

“You’re not wearing trousers.”

“I’ll look weird.”

“You’ll look hot.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It is at Lee’s.”

You let her dress you like a very grumpy, very reluctant doll — the dress complimented your figure, hugging what needed to be hugged and letting loose what needed to be let loose. Angelina handed you a pair of black sneakers with an excited grin. You took them and laced them up. At least a part of your outfit would be somewhat comfortable to you.

By the time you stood in front of the mirror, half-made-up and blinking at your own reflection, you had to admit—begrudgingly—you didn’t look bad. 

Angelina popped into view behind you, adjusting one of your earrings.

“There. If anyone hits on you tonight, just glare. Or hex.”

You rolled your eyes. “Comforting.”

“I mean it, though,” she said, her tone dipping into something quieter for the first time that night. “You don’t have to impress anyone. You’re not here to fit in—you’re just here. And anyone who doesn’t get that can shove it.”

You smiled, soft but small.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t get mushy on me now,” she said quickly, already turning away to grab her jacket. 

The night air was sticky with the kind of summer heat that clung to the back of your neck, even after the sun had dipped below the trees. You both apparated just outside Lee Jordan’s place—a two-story house with music rattling the windows and what appeared to be a bonfire happening in the back garden.

Angelina didn’t give you time to hesitate. She grabbed your hand, practically dragging you up the front path and through the door like a woman on a mission.

Immediately, the noise swallowed you.

Laughter, loud music, and the faint scent of something burning (in a good way?) hit you all at once. People were everywhere—sprawled on armchairs, dancing in the middle of the living room, leaning against the kitchen counters with drinks in hand. You were hit with the overwhelming sense that they all knew each other. Knew this space. Knew where to find the good drinks and which room was off-limits and which bathroom door not to open.

You, on the other hand, felt like someone who’d wandered into the wrong photograph.

Angelina disappeared into the crowd with a promise of “back in a sec,” and a minute passed. Then five.

Then you started planning your exit.

You sighed, edging toward the nearest wall and gripping the plastic cup she’d pressed into your hand during the walk. The music changed. Someone whooped. A girl bumped into you, apologized without really looking, and kept going.

You scanned the room, debating if it was too early to fake an emergency and leave.

Then someone brushed past your elbow.

“Hey—sorry, mind if I—”

You turned.

He was tall, all lazy angles and warm skin and reddish hair that curled just slightly at the ends. He looked like someone who never really hurried unless it was worth it. His eyes landed on yours for a beat longer than necessary.

He gave a slow, easy grin. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your…”

“Irish goodbye,” you offered as you stared up at him. A brow raised, unimpressed but not annoyed.

You saw him trying to suppress a smile. He failed. “Well it’s a shame we’re in England then.”

You opened your mouth—probably to make some snarky remark about how not even being a continent away from Irish grounds had stopped you from disappearing from events before—but before you could speak, a familiar voice cut through the hum of music and voices.

“Of course you found her first.”

You glanced past him just as Angelina returned, dragging a tall boy with dreadlocks and a redhead girl. She looked at the scene in front of her like she’d just walked in on her own punchline.

The boy turned his head lazily toward her. “You know her?”

“Yes, I brought her,” Angelina said, shooting him a look. “I was literally gone for two minutes.”

Dreadlocks smirked. “That’s on you for thinking Fred wouldn’t sniff out the new girl the second you blinked.”

The redhead was already eyeing you with a polite kind of curiosity.

You tried not to let your face show anything except mild amusement as Fred turned back to you, still wearing that infuriating half-smile.

“Well, I feel like we’ve been robbed of a proper introduction.”

Angelina rolled her eyes, but there was a glint of satisfaction in it.

She introduced him as Fred Weasley. The redheaded girl was his sister, Ginny Weasley. And the other guy was Lee Jordan, the host.

You nodded at each of them, offering polite, half-distracted greetings.

Fred, for his part, didn’t look away from you once.

“So you’re the American transfer,” Lee said, already grinning. “You don’t sound American.”

“I don’t?” 

“I expected a bit more yee-haw in the accent.”

You gave him a flat look. “Sorry to disappoint, darlin’,” you made sure to include that southern drawl which was not at all native to you.

“Give him five minutes,” Angelina muttered. “He’ll ask if you’ve ever ridden a dragon across the Grand Canyon.”

“Have you?” Fred asked, deadpan.

You looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “That’s not even geographically possible.”

“So you haven’t?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out—low and involuntary. Fred lit up like he’d won something.

“So what’s the biggest difference so far?” Ginny asked, nudging her shoulder against yours.

You hesitated. “Well… the weather’s worse. People say reckon unironically. And every time someone mentions ‘O.W.L.s’ I think they're talking about actual birds.”

Fred grinned. “We do have actual birds too. You’ll love the post system.”

Lee leaned in. “Have you seen a Hippogriff up close?”

“I’ve seen worse,” you said without missing a beat.

They seemed to hold their breath, waiting for you to elaborate.

“American teenage boys,” you said finally, and that got a full round of laughter, even from Ginny.

“Okay, okay,” Angelina said, waving a hand. “Let her breathe. You’re gonna scare her off before the party even hits its stride.”

“I’m fine,” you said, but she was already grabbing Ginny by the wrist.

“Come on. We’re getting drinks. Real ones,” she said.

Ginny smirked, sending you a knowing look before letting herself be pulled away.

And just like that, it was just you, Fred, and Lee again.

Well. Briefly.

Because, within seconds, someone slipped up behind Lee and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Oi. You stealing all the good company without me?”

Fred groaned. “Really?”

You looked up—and paused. Another redhead. Nearly identical to Fred, except his grin was wider, his eyes crinkled more, and his shirt was somehow worse.

“George,” Fred said, lazily.

You blinked. “So I am seeing double.”

George grinned. “It’s a common reaction.”

“She’s American,” Lee added, like it explained something.

“Ohhh,” George said, nodding solemnly. “That explains why she hasn’t hexed you yet.”

Fred elbowed him gently.

George clapped Fred’s chest. They appeared to say something to each other briefly before both him and Lee slipped away.

Fred gave you a long look as Lee and George headed off, disappearing into the din.

And then it was just the two of you again.

He turned toward you, expression softening, a bit less smug now that his audience was gone.

“You dance?”

You laughed. “I do. But you don’t seem like the dancing type.”

“I’m not,” he said honestly. “But I am a ‘you’ type.”

You blinked, caught off guard for a moment. Your fingers curled slightly around your empty cup. You were so used to people pushing, performing—trying to impress or one-up or drag something out of you.

Fred Weasley didn’t seem like he was trying anything at all.

And somehow, that was worse.

“Fine,” you said, finally putting the cup down on a nearby shelf. “But you’ll have to keep up.”

You didn’t wait for his reply. You were already making your way to the dance floor, hips already moving.

The room had thickened with music—low bass, scattered vocals, something old and funky that made it easier to move without thinking. Bodies swayed in lazy, rhythmic pulses, half-drunk limbs brushing too close in places, the air clinging with heat and smoke and the vague sweetness of perfume and cologne.

Fred caught up with you just as you started to sink into the tempo.

There wasn’t much space between the two of you, and even less so once his hands found your waist. Lightly, not possessive—more like a question he wasn’t asking out loud.

You didn’t answer with words. You just turned into the music, letting it ripple through you. His hands followed naturally, sliding to the small of your back as you moved.

He smelled faintly of aftershave and something warm—clove maybe, or cinnamon. And he was warmer than you expected, like he ran hot under pressure.

Neither of you spoke.

There wasn’t a need to.

He wasn’t bad at dancing, either. A little cocky, sure. A bit loose with the rhythm, but he moved with intention, letting your lead guide him just enough. His palm ghosted along your side as you shifted, the space between your bodies closing, your movements syncing up without effort.

The music slowed.

Not dramatically—just enough to pull everyone into a deeper sway. Shoulders softened. Conversations turned murmured.

Your eyes flicked up, finding his already on yours.

You cleared your throat quietly, peeling your hands from where they’d found his shoulders.

“Got a cig?” you asked, casually—like you weren’t just buying yourself a second to breathe.

Fred raised a brow. “Do I look like I have a cig?”

You tilted your head. “Yes.”

He smiled. “Come on.”

He took your hand and led you toward the back of the house.

The patio door stuck a little before giving way. You slipped through first, Fred close behind, and the sound of the party dimmed instantly behind the glass.

Outside, the air was still heavy, but cooler than inside—thank God. Crickets buzzed lazily in the hedges. A few people were smoking further down the garden path, silhouettes caught in flickering firelight from the bonfire. But out here, on the little stone patio just off the kitchen, it felt… separate. Quieter. Like you’d slipped out of frame.

You sat on the edge of an old patio chair and leaned forward, resting your forearms on your thighs as Fred pulled a cigarette tin from the inside pocket of his jacket. He flipped it open, offering it without a word.

You took one, holding it between your fingers before he lit it for you with a quick flick of his wand. The flame caught instantly. You inhaled.

The smoke filled your lungs with something sharp and familiar.

Fred took one for himself but didn’t light it. He just held it, rolling it slowly between his fingers as he watched you.

“What?” you asked, not looking at him.

He shrugged, resting back against the low railing that overlooked the yard. “Just trying to figure you out.”

You gave a dry laugh, exhaling smoke toward the sky. “You’ve known me for twenty minutes.”

“Exactly,” he said. “I’m working fast.”

You took another drag and leaned back. The stone patio was still warm beneath your boots.

“You always this direct?”

Fred finally lit his own, the flame briefly illuminating the sharp line of his jaw, the cut of his cheekbone. His eyes found you again through the smoke. “That’s for you to figure out.”

You didn’t respond right away.

From here, you could still hear the low thump of the bass from inside, the occasional burst of laughter from the garden. But it all felt muted. Like background noise to something else entirely.

You took another pull from the cigarette, slow, measured. The paper crackled softly as it burned down, the orange tip pulsing like a heartbeat between your fingers.

Fred didn’t look away. His cigarette dangled loosely from his lips now, forgotten more than enjoyed. You could feel his gaze press into you—steady, assessing, but not in a way that demanded anything.

Just... watching.

You turned slightly, crossing one leg over the other, and let the smoke roll out slowly between your lips—right toward him.

It wasn’t a challenge, not exactly.

But it wasn’t innocent either.

The smoke drifted lazily in the air between you, curling toward his face before thinning into the thick night.

Fred blinked once, slow.

Then he laughed—low, under his breath. “Alright.”

You arched a brow, satisfied.

He leaned forward a little, cigarette finally lit and between his fingers now. “So what’s your game?”

You gave him a look. “You think I’ve got one?”

“I hope you do,” he said. “Otherwise I’m wasting good material.”

You smiled, but it was the kind that didn’t reach your eyes.

He sat down beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. The stone bench was narrow, and neither of you made any effort to create more space.

Fred’s voice dipped. “Blowing smoke at people is rude.”

You glanced at him sideways. “So is staring.”

“Didn’t realize I was being that obvious.”

You flicked ash off the end of your cigarette. “You were.”

A beat passed.

Then: “Does it bother you?”

You looked at him fully this time.

His cigarette glowed between two fingers, untouched. His lips were parted slightly, eyes darker now—less playful. More curious. Like he wasn’t sure what answer he wanted from you.

“No,” you said, quiet but clear. “If it did, you’d know.”

Fred hummed softly, his gaze flicking to your mouth for just a second before coming back up. He didn’t smile this time. And for a moment, the air between you felt weighted—like something might shift if either of you leaned too far in the wrong direction.

Or the right one.

You dropped your cigarette into the cracked ashtray on the table beside you, then sat back. Not away—just back enough to meet him head-on.

“I thought you were the charming one,” you said.

Fred tilted his head. “Who told you that?”

You smirked. “Are you saying you’re not?”

He grinned then, slow and sharp. “And here I thought I was being subtle.”

“Not even close.”

His hand brushed your knee—barely. A test, maybe. You didn’t move.

You let the quiet hang.

Then, softly, “You’re not trying very hard.”

Fred’s eyes sparked. “Don’t have to.”

You held that for a beat. The way his gaze pinned yours. The barely-there smile at the corner of his mouth. The air between you pulling tighter with each second.

You leaned in a little—barely. Just enough that your voice came out softer, closer.

“Prove it.”

That did something to him.

His breath hitched just slightly, and for a flicker of a moment, he looked like he might say something else.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, slow and deliberate, until you could feel the smoke still clinging to his breath. Until his hand brushed yours, then stilled. Until your noses were nearly touching and the world behind you blurred out into nothing.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

You didn’t.

So he didn’t.

His mouth found yours without hesitation—warm, steady, the kiss rougher than expected but nothing like careless. His hand slid to your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your cheekbone like he was trying to figure out what part of you to memorize first.

You kissed him back just as deliberately. Just as firmly.

No nerves. No butterflies.

Just heat. And pressure. And the sharp, clean snap of something starting.

When you finally pulled back, he didn’t move far. Just enough to breathe.

You looked at him through the haze, your lips still parted, the scent of smoke and clove hanging between you.

“Well,” you said. “That wasn’t very subtle either.”

Fred smirked. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

You didn’t.

And he knew it.

The summer went by faster than expected.

After that kiss—and everything it hinted at—you’d pulled a classic disappearing act. Slipped out of the party not long after, still tasting clove and heat and something you didn’t have the language for. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That the timing had been off. That he probably did this all the time.

Angelina didn’t let it go, of course.

She’d brought it up with a pointed look the next morning. Said something like “So… smoke break, huh?” with the kind of smirk that made it obvious she’d already heard the details from someone else—probably Lee. You brushed her off, played it cool. Changed the subject. Pretended not to check the mirror when you passed it, like you weren’t still replaying the moment in your head.

By the time September rolled around, Hogwarts felt like an entirely different orbit. Older. Colder. The train ride had been a blur of new faces and shifting accents and vague curiosity—some of it friendly, some of it sharp-edged. Most people just stared like you were a new animal at the zoo.

You didn’t mind. You’d learned how to shape-shift over the years. Being a new girl wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Now, on your first official day, you found yourself being escorted through the halls of the castle by none other than Professor McGonagall herself—sharp, efficient, and somehow still managing to make you feel like you were under examination even when she was being polite.

You hadn’t expected the castle to feel this vast. You’d heard it described—maze-like, ancient, full of trick staircases and portraits that moved when they shouldn’t—but no one had prepared you for how much space could hum with memory.

Every corridor echoed with a kind of lived-in noise: footsteps from nowhere, shifting walls, the creak of portraits repositioning themselves just outside your line of sight. The place didn’t feel haunted, exactly. But it was watching.

Professor McGonagall walked with sharp, even steps beside you, her expression unreadable in that way people wore when they’d mastered command.

“This wing connects back to the Charms corridor—though if the third-floor passage is sealed again this year, you’ll need to go around through the courtyard. I trust you’ll learn the difference in time.”

You nodded once. She hadn’t asked for your thoughts.

The halls were mostly empty, save for the occasional blur of black robes in the distance.

You were just about to ask a question when a blur of motion whipped across the hall in front of you.

It was as if the ghost of summer’s past was coming to haunt you. 

You still couldn't help but try to suppress a smile.

Back in America, you would be able to go months without crossing paths with people from other classes. You had expected that the sheer vastness of the Hogwarts castle would ensure the same courtesy. 

But here he was, in all his red-headed glory. 

Fred Weasley. 

Sprinting at full tilt, as he skidded into view. His tie was half-undone and his eyes wide with something between laughter and panic.

“Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said, tone arid as parchment, before he could collide into her.

He straightened immediately, breathing hard. “Professor. Fancy seeing you here.”

Behind him, a loud noise echoed through the corridor. Followed by a blue-ish floating figure that was carrying a bucket with a viscous-looking liquid inside.

“Thieves! Traitors! Ginger-haired goblins!” it shrieked.

McGonagall didn’t flinch. She turned slowly, gave the poltergeist a glare so precise it could’ve cracked marble.

The spectre froze midair.

“Peeves. I highly suggest you reconsider that course of action,” she said, voice like iron.

Peeves whimpered and vanished through the ceiling without another word.

Fred blinked. “That was almost impressive.”

“I expect silence unless it includes an apology,” McGonagall replied.

He smiled, easy. “Always sorry, Professor.”

She didn’t smile back.

Instead, she turned to you. The sound of your last name brought you back to reality. “...This is Fred Weasley. One of our more… spirited upper-years. Mr. Weasley, this is our new transfer student from America. I trust you’ll be a model student around her. For my sake.”

Fred turned to you fully now, something flickering across his face—surprise, humor, memory. But he recovered quickly, clearing his throat and putting on a perfect picture of polite interest.

He extended his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said.

You stared at him for a half-second longer than was strictly necessary. Then, you slid your fingers into his expression, unreadable.

“You too,” you said, letting your voice fall into that same effortless neutrality you used on strangers. “I’ve heard a lot.”

Fred’s smile twitched, just slightly. “All of it true, I’m afraid.”

“Hmm,” you replied. “I doubt all of it.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted movement—a shadow just barely visible in the mouth of a side corridor.

George Weasley, unmistakable in stature and smirk, was half-hidden behind the stone archway, peering out like a feral cat waiting for the coast to clear. Lee Jordan crouched beside him, his hand flat against George’s chest, physically keeping him from stepping out into view.

You didn’t acknowledge them. You didn’t have to.

Your gaze flicked back to Fred, and you smirked—just barely. A warning.

Fred’s eyes glinted.

McGonagall had already started walking again, muttering something under her breath about detentions and stress-induced migraines.

“Shall we?” she called over her shoulder.

You nodded at Fred, voice perfectly cool. “Nice to meet you.”

He smirked. “The pleasure’s mine.”

As you turned to walk away, you caught it—the way his fingers curled slightly at his side, like he wanted to reach for something but wouldn’t.

You didn’t look back.

By mid-October, Hogwarts had cooled into something sharper. Even the sunlight in the mornings came through like it had somewhere to be. Nights arrived earlier. Hogsmeade weekends were a welcome relief—a sanctioned excuse to drift off school grounds, drown your essays in butterbeer, and pretend the real world didn’t live just beyond the hills.

It was dark now. Late.

The usual crowd had thinned in The Three Broomsticks. All the first and second years had been shuffled back toward the castle hours ago, and the only students left were the ones clever enough to not get caught—or charming enough to not care if they were.

You were tucked into a booth near the back, the dark wood sticky beneath your elbows, jacket slung behind you on the bench. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting everything in a gold haze that made the glass bottles behind the bar glow like treasure. The room smelled like clove smoke, wet wool, and spilled cider. There was a low hum of conversation, but it was mostly lazy now. Loose-limbed and late enough that the air felt more like velvet than noise.

Oliver Wood slid into the seat across from you, half-drunk and grinning, with the kind of flushed face that suggested he’d already started celebrating something—probably nothing.

He set his tankard down with a soft thunk and pointed at you like you were a question he hadn’t answered yet.

“You know,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever properly met you.”

You most definitely had met him. In fact, you had a lengthy conversation about American Quidditch teams. You had defended the Brazilian National team like your life depended on it. Because with Oliver Wood nearby, it most likely did. You had found middle ground in the fact that the team manager had called the Welsh Chasers “talentless hags”.

You blinked, sipping slowly from your mug. “Haven’t we?”

“Not officially.” He turned, waving someone over. “Oi—Fred!”

You didn’t turn. Didn’t need to.

You already knew the sound of his footsteps—easy, unhurried, a slight scuff to the heel like he dragged his feet just enough to be insolent. You’d heard it sneaking down to the kitchens three nights ago. And the night before that. And the one where he’d pushed you against the cold marble of the trophy hallway and said “You’re a menace” against your mouth like it was a compliment.

Fred Weasley slid into the booth beside Oliver, sparing you a single, unreadable glance.

“Weasley…” Oliver slurred. “This is…”

He stared blankly at you.

You stared back.

“What’s your name again?”

You offered him your name. 

His eyes lit up. “The Brazilian lass!”

“Not Brazilian.”

Fred didn’t laugh.

He didn’t smile either.

Just reached for Oliver’s half-finished tankard, took a sip, and let the silence stretch long enough that it almost became a conversation in itself.

You let your body relax into the booth, playing the part. Arms folded loosely across your chest, one ankle tucked beneath the other. The picture of polite disinterest.

Oliver, meanwhile, leaned forward like this was a game he’d just decided to win.

“You two’ve never met, right?” he asked, blinking slow and sloppy. “You’d get on.”

You tilted your head. “No, I don’t think we have.”

Fred’s lips twitched. Not a smile. A crease.

“Pleasure,” he said, finally turning to face you full. He offered his hand over the table like it was the first time.

You stared at it a second longer than you needed to, just to be difficult. Then you took it. Warm. Familiar. Callused just enough to remember.

“Nice to meet you,” you murmured, like his mouth hadn’t been on yours three nights ago.

Oliver seemed satisfied, completely unaware of the low tension curling under the table like a wire left too close to fire.

Fred’s hand let go a moment too late.

Not long enough to be noticed.

Long enough to feel.

He leaned back in the booth, arm draped casually over the backrest behind Oliver, fingers curling against the edge of the wood. Not touching you, but not far.

“Brazilian at heart, though,” Oliver continued, oblivious. “You should’ve heard her. Practically hexed me for calling the Cannons a real team.”

“She’s got taste, then,” Fred said mildly.

You took another sip of your cider. It was lukewarm now, clove-heavy. Your hands stayed wrapped around the glass anyway.

“Fred, you should’ve seen her during the match last week—stood the whole bloody game. Thought she was going to throw her shoe at the Slytherin beater.”

“That true?” Fred asked, turning his face toward you just enough to meet your eyes.

The fire cast the side of his jaw in amber and shadow. His knee bumped lightly against yours beneath the table. You didn’t move.

“I considered it,” you said, evenly.

He smiled again—this time with teeth. Brief. Sharp. Gone just as quick.

Oliver knocked back the last of his drink, setting the tankard down with a clumsy kind of finality. “You two’ll get on, I think. She’s trouble.”

“Is she?” Fred said, still looking at you.

You gave a small shrug. “Depends who’s asking.”

Oliver groaned, loud and dramatic. “Merlin’s tits, I’m the third wheel, and I was here first."

Fred’s gaze didn’t waver. “You should work on your timing.”

“Piss off,” Oliver muttered, standing—too quickly—and nearly knocking over the bench as he did.

He mumbled something about going to find Katie and stumbled off into the haze of low firelight and laughter.

And then it was quiet.

Sort of.

The noise of the room existed, but far away—muffled like water.

Fred didn’t speak right away.

His arm hadn’t moved.

Neither had his leg.

“You gonna pretend again?” he asked finally, voice low. A private murmur between you and the table and the dark.

“I’m playing along,” you said, calm.

Fred’s eyes traced your face. “That what this is?”

You didn’t answer.

Not with words.

Instead, you reached for your drink again, took a slow sip, and exhaled like nothing about this felt dangerous.

Fred leaned in, just enough for the tips of his fingers to graze your wrist under the table.

Then he said—quietly, so no one else would hear: “You’re fucking cruel.”

You smiled over the rim of your glass. “You like it.”

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t have to.

Because the way he looked at you said it for him.

You let the silence stretch.

Then, finally, you slid out of the booth—slow and unhurried—pulling your jacket from the bench and slinging it over your arm.

“Walk me back?”

It wasn’t a question.

Fred stood without hesitation.

And when you stepped out into the night—under stars that glittered like they were watching—you didn’t bother pretending anymore.

You barely had time to inhale before Fred’s hand curled around your elbow and pulled you sharply into the first alley beside the pub.

A low gasp caught in your throat—not from fear. Not even surprise. Just the speed.

The wall was cold against your back, and his mouth was on yours before you could say a word.

His hands found your waist, thumbs pressing into your hipbones like they belonged there. Your own slid up the front of his coat, clutching at the wool as his mouth slanted against yours, hungry and certain.

“What happened to playing along?”

You smirked against his mouth. “I said walk me back.”

He kissed you again, slower this time—like he could memorize it, bite by bite.

Eventually, you did walk.

But by then your lips were swollen, your knuckles scraped a little from the stone, your legs a bit wobbly, and Fred looked like someone who’d just won a bet no one else knew he’d placed.

The walk back to the castle wasn’t short.

And neither of you said a single word the entire way.

The rest of Hogwarts passed like smoke.

A blur of whispered meetings in empty classrooms, stray parchment notes folded into pockets, hands clutching fabric in the dark. Kisses that tasted like winter and peppermint and secrets. You and Fred had become a study in stolen time—meeting in secret, parting with smirks and half-muttered promises you never expected to hold.

You still remembered the sound of his laugh echoing off the castle walls. The way his fingertips always smelled faintly of sulphur and sugar from whatever half-baked prank he’d been helping George with. The soft scrape of his voice when he said "just five more minutes." And how it didn’t fail to make you feel weak in the knees every time.

It was messy and light and dizzyingly easy—until it wasn’t.

Until the twins left.

That day the castle cracked open.

The sky above Hogwarts turned into a canvas of fireworks. Laughter. Screaming. A roaring exit worthy of the Weasley name, leaving behind a trail of chaos and a gaping silence Umbridge couldn’t fill, no matter how many decrees she tacked onto the walls.

You didn’t say goodbye.

Not properly.

There wasn’t a moment for it. Just the flash of red hair disappearing into smoke and the dull thrum of your heartbeat in your ears.

You couldn’t even be angry. Not without getting angrier at yourself for it.

Fred Weasley had never been yours — not properly anyway. And you never had been his.

That’s the thing about secrets. They are only ever yours to keep.

After that, everything quieted.

The war had its shadows. Your last year was subdued. You graduated with decent marks and restless hands, the kind that needed to dig into soil or scribble notes into field journals just to keep still.

You studied Herbology. Then Magizoology. Plants and creatures made sense in ways people didn’t. They told you what they needed. They never looked at you like you were supposed to be something you hadn’t figured out yet.

Your professional career came to a halt for a brief moment. The war destroyed everything it touched. And for a moment, you thought the darkness would never dissipate. 

The letter came in the middle of the night.

You didn’t sleep much anymore, not since everything began to unravel in real time — not since the quiet rumors became battle lines, not since the list of names on parchment started including people you actually knew.

You arrived at Hogwarts under cover of dark, wand clenched tight in your pocket, the castle silhouette jagged and unfamiliar against the storm-lit sky. For a moment, it felt like walking back into a dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. It was a reckoning.

McGonagall met you in the courtyard.

She looked older. Not just tired, but aged in the bones — like the last year had asked more of her than magic was supposed to take. Her robes were singed, and there was a thin line of blood crusted at her temple, but she stood tall. Unshaken.

When she saw you, she didn’t smile. Just reached out and gripped your shoulder, firm and grounding.

“It’s good to see you,” she said softly.

You couldn’t answer. Just swallowed around the tightness in your throat and nodded once.

She led you through the castle — through corridors you used to sneak down with Fred, past classrooms where your name had once been whispered behind hands for other reasons. The walls bled smoke and light. Spells sizzled in the distance.

The castle was a battlefield now.

Still, you found some of the Weasleys — not all at once, but in flashes. You saw Ginny ducking beneath a shattered arch, her face streaked with ash. You passed Percy standing shoulder to shoulder with Charlie, both of them shouting hexes like they were pulling pieces of themselves apart. And George — you found George in the entryway, his lip split and wand arm trembling.

He caught your eye.

Stopped in his tracks.

Neither of you spoke.

But he looked like he wanted to.

Like there was a truth he needed to offer and no time to shape it into words.

Instead, he nodded — once. A small, brittle thing. And then he ran.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been fighting. How long the world had narrowed down to spells and blood and rubble beneath your boots.

It happened so fast.

The wall behind him collapsed.

Fred.

It came down with a thunderous roar, a split-second scream — too loud, too sudden — stone crashing like thunder. Someone shouted his name. Maybe it was you. Maybe it wasn’t.

You don’t remember running.

Just the dust choking your lungs, the crumbling brick still hot from spellfire, the way your fingers scraped raw trying to pull him out.

His body was limp when you found him.

Half-buried, blood running warm down the side of his face.

But breathing.

You held onto that.

You stayed by him all the way back to the Great Hall — now transfigured into a makeshift infirmary.  Lanterns floated above broken bodies. Cots lined the stone floor. Madame Pomfrey was everywhere at once.

You stood by a wall. Letting the Weasleys have their space.

The moment he woke up, you knew it immediately. 

You heard Goerge’s broken sob, as he went to hug his twin. Molly followed. Ginny was held by Charlie as she cried.

You didn’t go to him.

You couldn’t.

Not when all of them were finally able to touch him, to hold him, to know he was still there. It wasn’t your place—not really. You weren’t someone with a claim.

You’d been a secret.

And secrets don’t get to grieve out loud.

Still, he saw you. You knew it.

Your back was already half-turned when your eyes met across the Great Hall—his still cloudy with pain and potions, but sharp enough to land on you.

You didn’t wave. Didn’t smile.

Just held the gaze for a beat too long, and then—

You left.

Slipped past the wounded and the healers and the broken bodies beneath floating lanterns, into the corridor, into the silence.

You didn’t look back.

You stayed until the war ended.

You fought through the final night, knuckles blistered from your wand, spells coming out hoarse and ragged from your throat. You helped patch wounds with trembling fingers. You held someone’s hand—maybe a Ravenclaw fifth year—as they died.

And when it was over, you walked through the rubble of a place you’d once thought unshakable. You said goodbye to McGonagall—who held your hand a little longer than she needed to—and then you left.

No one stopped you.

No one even asked where you were going.

Slowly, everything went back to a semblance of normal. 

But not really. Nothing would be the same as it was before. 

You read the paper every morning, now more than ever, it was full of faces of people you knew. 

The ones who you had lost, the ones who had decided to lose themselves, and the ones who were working on building back what they once knew.

You had started working doing what you loved again. 

The old woman who owned the apothecary in Diagon Alley had lost her husband in the first war.

You never asked for details. She never gave them. But there was a kind of knowing in her—one that didn’t press when your hands shook while shelving bloodroot, or when you stood too long staring at the floating jars of calming draughts like they might give you answers.

Her name was Mildred. She wore too much perfume and kept tiny sweets in her pockets for the neighborhood kids. She insisted on closing the shop every Sunday, even though it made no business sense, and said the plants needed time to breathe just like people did.

You came to love her in the way you love the things that save you quietly.

You brewed. You blended. You took inventory. You learned how to listen to the hum of ingredients instead of your own thoughts.

Sometimes you’d hear fireworks in the alley behind the shop.

Your hands would freeze. Your heart, too.

But it was never them.

Until one Tuesday.

It was raining—a soft drizzle, the kind that clung to your eyelashes and soaked the stone roads in thin silver.

You were in the back room, labeling new deliveries of dried dittany, when the bell chimed softly at the front of the shop.

“One moment!” you called, brushing your hands against your apron.

You stepped through the doorway, still scribbling something on a notepad—

And stopped.

Fred Weasley stood just inside the shop, a small box of biscuits tucked under his arm, raindrops still clinging to his curls. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

And neither did you.

Because before you could—

“Oh, Freddie,” Mildred chirped from behind the counter, already bustling forward.

She reached up on tiptoe and pinched his cheek with the same maternal familiarity she reserved for her houseplants. “You always remember. Look at this—you brought the good ones, too.”

She took the box from his hands and cooed like he’d just handed her a crown.

Fred gave a sheepish smile. “Wouldn’t dare forget.”

“You two don’t know each other, do you?” she asked suddenly, turning between you both. “This is my newest assistant—bit of a genius, this one. Got a feel for herbs like no one I’ve ever met.”

You inhaled slowly. Steadied yourself.

Then you extended your hand.

Smiled, slow. Familiar. Practiced.

“Nice to meet you,” you said.

Fred looked at your hand.

Then took it, palm warm against yours, grip just the right side of firm.

“Pleasure,” he murmured.

He came back the next week.

You told yourself it was just a coincidence. Mildred was beloved by all sorts, especially the ones who’d fought. She’d mothered more than her fair share of broken soldiers and ex-Aurors. Fred Weasley showing up again wasn’t surprising. Not really.

He brought her a bag of pear drops and a tiny enchanted orchid that opened and closed like a sleepy yawn.

You were in the back when the bell chimed again. You almost didn’t come out—stayed shelving silverleaf and grinding dried asphodel into fine powder, pretending not to recognize the voice through the wall.

But then Mildred called for help identifying a mislabeled root, and you didn’t have the luxury of disappearing.

He was leaning against the counter when you walked out, arms crossed over his chest like he’d been waiting longer than he was letting on. His hair was still damp from the rain. A few curls stuck to his temple.

You didn’t greet him.

Just went about your task with quiet efficiency.

When you passed him to grab a jar from the front display, he shifted slightly. Like he wanted to say something. Like he had rehearsed it, and then lost it in the moment.

It wasn’t until Mildred was out of earshot that he finally said it.

“I think I saw you.”

You didn’t turn around. “When?”

“During the battle.”

Your hands slowed, brushing over the glass of a jar, the label half-faded.

“I couldn’t be sure,” he added. “I wasn’t exactly lucid. But I thought I saw you.”

You finally looked at him. Not with warmth. Not even curiosity.

Just that same unreadable look you’d always worn best—cool and clean and just a little bit sharp around the edges.

You didn’t answer.

He cleared his throat. “Are you—are you angry?”

You blinked, once. “Why would I be angry?”

Fred straightened. “Because I left. Because I didn’t write. Because I didn’t find you after.”

“You didn’t owe me anything.”

“That’s not—” he paused. “That’s not what I meant.”

You gave a short, humorless sound. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I do,” he said, and for the first time, it didn’t sound like banter. It didn’t sound like him at seventeen, cocky and golden and invincible. It sounded older. Tired.

You went back to labeling vials. “You shouldn’t.”

“I should,” he said. “I should’ve said something. I should’ve—” He broke off, raking a hand through his hair. “I should’ve found you.”

The silence between you stretched, elastic and unforgiving.

You didn’t say you could’ve. You didn’t say you knew where I was. You didn’t say I was right there when they pulled you out.

You just said, “I’m not angry.”

And that was true.

You weren’t angry.

You were hollowed out.

You had been, for a long time now.

The kind of hurt that didn’t scab over—just settled in your ribs and made a home there.

He watched you. And maybe—just maybe—he saw it.

But you didn’t let it show. Not fully.

You finished the labels. Shelved the bottles. Wiped your hands clean.

When you looked back at him, your voice was light. Almost casual. “Can I help you with something?”

You saw the hurt your words inflicted on him. His face shifted for a second.

In a sick way, you liked it. 

Good, you thought. Let him hurt this time.

He called your name, but you didn’t let him complete it.

“Listren Fred…” you said as you cleaned out an empty glass jar with a cloth. “If you’re here because you feel guilty, or something like that. You don’t need to. You can go.”

He just stared at you, though you refused to meet his eyes for more than a second.

“We…” you paused. “We weren’t together. Not officially. You don’t owe me anything.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just stared at you, jaw clenched, like he was holding something heavy behind his teeth. You could see the words pushing up against his tongue, begging for release—but he wasn’t stupid enough to let them spill all at once. Not yet.

You didn’t look up again. You didn’t want to see what might be in his face. Not when you were still busy sweeping the last few pieces of yourself off the floor.

He left quietly.

Didn’t slam the door. Didn’t make some theatrical exit like the Fred you used to know might have. Just stepped out into the rain, letting the bell above the door chime in his wake.

You thought that would be it.

But the next time, he came back with a book on Scottish fungi and a tin of candied ginger.

“I figured you’d like the fungi more than flowers,” he said, placing them carefully on the counter.

You didn’t smile.

You didn’t thank him either.

But you didn’t tell him to leave.

Then he started showing up on Tuesdays.

Always early. Always pretending he needed something Mildred didn’t stock.

He once asked if you carried freeze-dried doxy wings.

“We’re not a bloody joke shop,” you said without looking up.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, glancing at the rows of glittering jars behind you. “You still haven’t come around to ours.”

You didn’t answer.

A week later, he asked about the Battle again.

“I keep thinking,” he said, “about that night. About what I would’ve done if… if I hadn’t made it out.”

You stilled, a bundle of sage in your hand.

“I saw you,” he added. “Really saw you. George told me you dragged me out. You stuck around, didn’t you? Until I woke up.”

You didn’t reply.

He leaned against the counter, shoulders slumping a little. “You don’t have to pretend anymore, you know. Like it didn’t matter. It mattered to me.”

You looked at him for the first time that day, voice like smoke. “I’m not pretending.”

His brows pulled together. “You’re not fine.”

“Did I say I was?” you asked.

His mouth opened. Closed again.

And then, in a voice quieter than you expected, he asked, “Are you angry?”

You scoffed, turned your back on him. “This again?”

You ran your thumb along the edge of a sharp glass jar.

“I didn’t think it meant anything to you,” he continued, persistent. “What we had.”

You turned then, slowly. And though your face was composed, your voice wasn’t as steady.

“Don’t rewrite history, Fred,” you said. “You didn’t ask. I didn’t stop you. We both knew what it was.”

His voice was hoarse. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

You just stared at him.

“I was an idiot,” he went on. “I thought… I thought if I didn’t call it anything, then it couldn’t hurt when it ended. Or if it ended. I was seventeen. I didn’t know how to want something properly.”

You didn’t blink.

He took a step closer.

“I don’t want to be that kid again. I don’t want to show up like this and make you think this is some… guilt trip. Or nostalgia. Or unfinished business.”

You leaned against the shelves, arms crossed. Cold. Quiet. Your eyes flicked to the clock.

“Let me finish.”

You didn’t stop him.

“I want you to know…” He hesitated. “I think about you. I think about you more than I have the right to.”

A long silence stretched.

Then Mildred’s voice floated in from the back, humming off-key, interrupting the silence.

You turned away.

“You should go.”

But he didn’t.

Not that day.

And not the next.

He started staying longer.

He brought tea and ridiculous pastries. Talked about the joke shop, and how George started asking about you. Asked questions about magizoology and didn’t pretend to know the answers. Let you teach him about endangered fungi and which roots snapped when overhandled.

He didn’t try to fix things with grand apologies or flowers.

He just kept showing up.

And slowly—so slowly—you stopped expecting to feel that hollow ache every time the bell above the door rang.

Because when it did, and you saw that freckled, familiar face again…

You didn’t feel angry.

You didn’t feel nothing.

You just felt.

And that, more than anything, terrified you.

It didn’t happen all at once.

There was no moment of revelation, no grand epiphany where your ribs opened and the light came pouring back in. It was quieter than that. Slower.

The first time you laughed in front of him again, it startled you.

You had been restocking the mint root, hands stained green, and he’d said something ridiculous—something about how it looked like you'd punched a leprechaun. And it wasn’t even that funny, really. But something about the lilt in his voice, the sparkle in his eyes, the sheer Fredness of it—something cracked loose.

You laughed. Out loud.

And Fred just blinked like he'd seen a rare bloom unfold. Like you’d caught him off guard.

He didn’t say anything.

He just smiled.

You started stopping by the joke shop sometimes.

Always unannounced. Never for long.

You’d hover near the back, under the flickering sign George still hadn’t fixed, pretending to inspect something absurd—self-charming shoelaces or a shrinking hat. And Fred would spot you every time, a grin already spreading across his face before he even turned fully toward you.

He always had a clever comment on the tip of his tongue.

You’d roll your eyes and hand him your bag so you could dig through the box of experimental toffees, ignoring how your fingers brushed when he took it.

Mildred loved it. She’d caught on quickly, of course—had been around long enough to see something blooming even through frost. She teased you relentlessly, slipping heart-shaped sweets into your lunch and asking if Fred was still bringing her pear drops “or if the new girlfriend had replaced him.”

You always denied it. Always flushed.

But you stopped denying it quite so hard.

One day, he showed up just before closing.

You’d had a long shift. Your hair smelled like dried herbs and your wrists ached from pouring potions into vials all day. You didn’t even look up when the bell rang.

But then he said, “I brought dinner,” and your chest did that thing again—that hollow ache that wasn’t so hollow anymore.

He held up a brown paper bag.

“I know a place that does scandalously good curry. And I even got the poppadoms you like. Mildred gets first dibs, obviously.”

You stared at him. At the way he stood there like this was normal now. Like you were normal now. Like the world hadn’t ended and rewritten itself in ash and fire.

You didn’t say anything.

Just took the bag and set it on the counter.

He didn’t leave that night.

You ate on the floor of the back room, legs stretched out beside drying bundles of sage and shrivelfig. He told you stories about customers, about the way George kept “accidentally” charming his own shoes to squeak when he walked, about how they’d managed to get Zonko’s old supply closet enchanted to sing show tunes if you tried to open it without knocking first.

You watched him as he spoke.

Watched how the war hadn’t quite touched the corners of his grin. How he still had that boyish tilt to his voice when he got excited, but the lines around his mouth were deeper now. Like time had traced its fingers over him too.

When the meal was finished, he leaned back on his elbows and glanced over at you.

“Want to go flying tomorrow?” he asked. “I’ve still got my old broom.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You want me to break my neck?”

He grinned. “You break anything and I’ll carry you home myself.”

You rolled your eyes.

But you didn’t say no.

You started smiling more.

It wasn’t conscious. It wasn’t performative.

It just… happened.

People noticed.

Mildred winked at you whenever Fred's name came up. Your owl, previously unimpressed with the world, started delivering notes with ridiculous frequency—usually folded bits of parchment with smudged ink and Fred’s increasingly absurd doodles.

You hung some of them on the wall.

You didn’t realize how heavy the numbness had been until it started to lift. The way grief hollowed you out and left you echoing inside your own skin. You'd grown so used to it—so used to functioning under its weight—that the absence felt foreign. Like walking on healed limbs you’d once assumed would never bear weight again.

Fred never asked for anything back.

He never demanded an answer or a confession.

He just kept showing up.

Day by day.

Touch by touch.

He made you tea without asking. Picked the daisies out of Mildred’s garden and tucked one behind your ear. Wrote you stupid poems that rhymed “mandrake” with “heartache” and compared himself to Shakespeare.

You caught yourself looking forward to things again.

And when he kissed you one night—soft and slow, standing in the doorway of the shop with your hands still dusted in lavender pollen—you kissed him back.

Because he hadn’t fixed you.

But he’d reminded you that you weren’t broken.

And that maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to be alone anymore.

It was late again.

The shop had closed an hour ago, but you were still there. Fred was helping you alphabetize the fresh shipment of dried roots that had come in completely unmarked—because of course it had. Mildred had already gone upstairs to sleep, humming off-key and muttering about moon phases.

The lamplight was soft and amber. Dust hung in the air like settled silence.

You were both barefoot, the tiled floor cool under your heels. He was seated on the counter, legs swinging slightly, a sprig of rosemary tucked behind his ear—your doing. He hadn't even noticed you’d slipped it there mid-conversation.

You were labeling the last of the jars, writing in neat script even though your wrist ached. You hummed along to the song playing on the vinyl player.

Fred had gone quiet.

You looked up. Found him watching you again.

That same look—soft, unreadable, a little afraid.

You didn’t say anything.

Instead, you swayed your hips and slowly made your way to him. Your humming turned into soft singing.

He smiled as he held on to your waist. 

You reached him and grabbed his hand, tugging him gently from the counter. “Dance with me.”

Fred raised a brow. “Here?”

“There’s music,” you said, lifting your chin toward the vinyl spinning in the corner. “Floor’s clear. You don’t have any excuses.”

He let out a quiet chuckle and slid down to stand in front of you, his hands finding your hips almost instinctively, like they always did. You moved together slowly at first—barefoot, swaying in lazy circles under the glow of the oil lamp. The scent of lavender and powdered sage hung low in the air, the faint hum of the music wrapping around your ankles like smoke.

You twirled under his arm, laughing as you nearly lost your balance on the pivot.

He caught you, hands firm at your hips, steadying you in place.

Your bodies stilled except for the gentle side-to-side motion of your hips. His thumbs pressed lightly into the fabric of your shirt as you breathed, matching him. The laughter faded. Not into tension—just into something quieter. Something closer.

His eyes were already on you, low-lidded and thoughtful.

He looked at you like you were still humming, even though your mouth had gone quiet.

He didn’t rush it.

Just lifted his hands from your waist and cupped your face, his thumbs brushing lightly beneath your cheekbones. He tilted your face up to his—not to kiss you. Not yet. Just to look. Like he needed to.

And then, in the kind of voice people only use when they’re afraid of the answer, he said, “Can I ask you something?”

You glanced up again. “Permition granted.”

He chuckled before letting a beat pass.

“Are we… doing this?”

You paused. Your swaying slowly stopping.

Fred’s fingers curled over your hips. He looked serious. 

“Because I want to,” he said. “Not because of the past. Or the timing. Or… guilt. Just because I want to.”

You stayed quiet.

Let him sit in it.

He didn’t fidget. Didn’t fill the silence.

He just looked at you with a steady kind of honesty that felt harder to look away from than a wand pointed straight at your chest.

He exhaled slowly. “I know we weren’t ever really a thing. Not back then. Not properly. But I’d like us to be, now.”

You blinked.

He gave a small shrug. “I’d like to put a name on it. Not for the sake of it—but so I know what this is. So you know I mean it.”

You stared at him. Really stared.

At the freckles just below his left eye.

At the soft fray of his shirt collar.

At the fact that he wasn’t making a joke out of this, even though every instinct in him probably itched to.

You just smiled. “Alright then.”

His smile bloomed slowly. “Alright then?”

You gave the smallest of nods. “Let’s name it.”

He reached over, covered your hand with his.

And that was it.

No fanfare. No declarations or fireworks.

He leaned down and kissed you. Soft and warm and oh so tender. 

His lips tasted faintly of peppermint and something sweeter—like he’d eaten a sugar quill hours ago and the ghost of it was still on his breath.

There was nothing showy in the way he kissed you. No urgency. No heat-for-the-sake-of-it. Just a kind of certainty. Like he knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly who he was kissing.

When he pulled back, he didn’t move far. His mouth stayed pressed lightly to yours, and he breathed out your name like it meant something different now.

And maybe it did.

You stayed like that for a moment. The soft crackle of the record. The quiet shift of your breaths. His thumb brushing over your knuckles.

Neither of you said anything.

There wasn’t much left to say.

Eventually, you smiled again—smaller this time, but real.

He squeezed your hand.

And the silence that settled between you didn’t feel empty.

It felt earned and familiar.

[sunschay]

Bedtime || WandaNat

You couldn’t accept failure. “People die all the time” was the phrase that haunted you the most and you hated it deeply. So, to drown your own frustrations and pain, you drowned it all in drink, as always. Luckily, your friends were there to help you.

Pairing: WandaNat x GN! Reader.

Warnings: Abuse of alcohol, inappropriate language.

Word count: 3k

The lights flashed above your half-closed eyelids. Yellow, blue, red… orange, maybe? You couldn’t keep track of so many colors due to the alcohol consuming your veins, but it wasn’t like it was a big deal. People celebrated around you, drinking, smiling, laughing together while you didn't even know which bar this was. You had had a bad night, the mission you had been on earlier had left more dead than saved from a terrorist attack in Ohio. You hated it, this feeling deep inside you that you could have done something more for the world, but that once again, you had failed.

Your best way to try to forget everything was always drinking. The death of your parents, the discovery that you had been captured by Hydra to become some kind of enhanced robot.

All the things that affected you in some way turned into a simple American glass of rum, whiskey, vodka or any other drink nearby. It was an insatiable habit, as deep as an endless vicious circle in which you sank every time you got closer to the edge.

Having innocent blood on your hands made you sick. It made you even sicker to feel like you could have done more, to carry a guilt you could never completely shake.

When you were first recruited by the Avengers, something that only happened thanks to Steve Rogers and Wanda Maximoff, Cap always saw potential in you. Wanda sensed your sense of justice, your fickle fight to save lives and try to pull the world out of ruins that could crush you if you wanted to. You didn't save the people you loved from death, no matter how hard you tried, so the only thing left for you was to do something that would serve as knowledge for the world.

You also had your dark side, your fits of rage were almost uncontrollable in battle, but even so, it usually fueled you to do the best you could for people.

You saw that in Steve too. He was a moral, upright man who would do anything to make everything and everyone in harmony, at least for a while. As for Wanda… Wanda was a witch. That meant she could come and go from your mind whenever she wanted, she could feel all your emotions and feelings without even trying. She was fascinating, but mysterious, like you were in the beginning, and something about her drew you to her. You became friends, if that's the word, and she became familiar with your story.

“One more round please.” You asked the bartender absentmindedly, unable to even think about what the total bill would be.

You had been drinking for over an hour. This even surprised you because you should already be lying somewhere, unconscious on some dark and empty road.

“Y/n.” A male voice, firm and yet calm, approached from behind your bench.

You didn’t need to look up to recognize the blond hair parted slightly to the sides or the wall of muscle that was Steve. He pulled off the top of his mask and sat down next to you, his eyes roaming over you, down to the shards of glass stuck in your knuckles and the bruises on your long arms. He wasn’t surprised, you fought until your last breath, until failure, but he didn’t want you to kill yourself if it meant he could keep you safe.

“We could have done better.” You replied simply, grabbing the two glasses of drink and drinking one at a time, barely caring about the feeling of the alcohol cutting your throat.

“We did well, we did it well. Sometimes I really wanted to save everyone. Believe me, it’s true, but it’s not always possible, and there’s no reason to blame yourself if you went to your limit to make everything work out.” He replied, wanting you to put down the drink as soon as possible.

“But it didn’t work, did it? So many dead, so many homes destroyed. That reminds me of something, Rogers.” You whispered to him, watching his broad shoulders tense before he turned and grabbed his phone, texting someone. “What are you doing now?”

“The girls will take care of you from here. Alcohol won’t bring those people back.” He replied firmly, standing up and then leaving.

You rolled your eyes slowly, looking at the empty glasses and tried to get up, but ended up stumbling back down and falling back onto the stool. It was too many rounds to get out of there alone. The hours passed painfully, your vision blurred each time the alcohol consumed more of your blood and you felt your head spinning when the bartender approached.

“Would you like the bill, my friend?” He asked you and you just waved your hand, taking your wallet out of your pocket. “Just a minute, mate.”

The young man nodded and you started looking for some bills inside your wallet, pretending you weren't terrified by the various final numbers of the bill on the paper in front of you. Footsteps started approaching and you felt your wallet being stolen from your hands, a mixture of lavender, cinnamon, two different faint perfumes and a bit of gasoline invaded your senses, making you turn your head awkwardly.

“Here you go. Thank you.” A familiar, soft accent drifted behind you, and you saw someone handing the bills to the young bartender.

“We got you. Let’s go.” You felt two people pull you to your feet, resting your arms around their necks as you heard the bartender let out an awkward ‘thank you!’ in the distance.

You looked around drunkenly, finding a familiar face beside you. She was wearing a jacket, something like a tank top, also black. Pants. Boots. Her hair was different this time, maybe she cut it? You didn't know, but Natasha knew how much you blamed yourself, how inadequate you felt for not being able to solve everything all the time. Natasha was holding you firmly against her shoulder, trying to support you there, although the difference in strength and size was clear. Her greenish eyes looked back at you, apparently serious and filled with concern, and you only looked away when you felt Wanda calmly push you into a car. Wanda was wearing a wine-colored jacket and a very dark blue blouse underneath, her boots were very high. Her eyes were surrounded by some dark glow, you couldn't describe it due to the level of alcohol trying at all costs to steal your reasoning. Natasha and you were similar, in terms of your distant and mostly insensitive personality, and in your constant ability to last hours in a fight against each other.

Natasha however, was not like Wanda, she didn't know how to mask her blatant interest in you. The way she looked at you, how she was always somehow close to you, the way she always wanted to know where you were, when, where, with whom.

She always made the excuse that you were all a team, even then. And she always acted the same way with Wanda. Which seemed like an alibi to her.

“Fasten your seatbelt.” You heard Wanda say, sitting next to you as Natasha began to drive the vehicle.

“Next stop… strip club then?” You smiled wildly, fingers struggling with your seatbelt.

“Next stop… Compound. So, bed, it’s time for you to sleep, Y/n.” Natasha rolled her eyes, staring in the rearview mirror as Wanda helped you with your seatbelt.

“Wow, I’m a kid again and now I’m going to be put to bed to sleep. What else is missing, my pacifier?” You pouted, earning an inevitable smile from Wanda and then a serious look.

“Maybe a few spankings?” Natasha raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her focus on the road ahead.

“Wow, do you think I can’t take a beating? I think you better not trust that woman, Wands, she could kill us right now.” You whispered in Wanda’s ear who rolled her eyes and looked out the window.

“She’ll definitely throw you out of this moving car if you keep pissing her off, that’s all I have to say.” Maximoff shrugged and you shivered as you felt Natasha accelerate the car hard.

With that in mind, you kept your mouth shut the rest of the way to the Compound. Natasha looked at you a few (several) times in the rearview mirror, it was as if she wanted to make sure that you weren't going to do something stupid or throw up in her car. Meanwhile, Wanda removed the tiny strands of hair that were sticking to your sweaty forehead so that they wouldn't obstruct your vision or bother you, and she did seem tender and calm. You wondered why Steve hadn't done it himself, it must have been because maybe (very obviously) he knew that keeping you alone with the two most attractive women on earth made you uneasy and intimidated.

“Let’s go.” Natasha stopped the car, parking it quickly and got out of the car, opening the door towards where you and Wanda were.

“I can walk, right?” You smiled smugly, seeing Natasha make a scolding expression.

One of your feet was thrown out of the car and you stepped onto the damp ground, taking a few steps before falling face down on the ground. Yeah, you definitely couldn't walk on your own. A breathless groan left your mouth and you wiped the dirt and grass off your forehead, feeling Wanda's arms help you up.

“Imagine, you’re always so independent even when you’re drunk.” Natasha yawned behind you, grabbing your arm.

“You know I do, dear.” You laughed weakly, walking with the support of the two to the entrance of the Compound and passed through the gate, noticing the silent and very deserted first floor.

“If they throw up in the living room I just cleaned, consider their lives doomed.” Tony rolled his eyes as you walked in with Natasha and Wanda, and you fell back into an armchair.

“Someone needs to help them take a shower.” Natasha crossed her arms with a sigh, the idea making her mentally blush.

“You guys better not drag me into this.” Clint rolled his eyes, jumping up onto the couch and Tony nodded. “Yeah, I don’t want to be part of that terrifying scene either.”

“Girls, I appreciate you being cooperative. Just don’t let them go around naked, we’re all wide awake.” Steve said, even getting a chuckle from Vision.

“Great, we’ve become babysitters for a fully functioning, grown adult.” Wanda sighed, biting her lower lip.

“No one will see me naked. Forget it.” You grunted, awkwardly getting up from the couch and running with as much enhanced speed as you had to the other hallway, but fell and hit a wall.

“This looks more like a murder scene.” Natasha huffed, pulling you into the first bathroom she found with Wanda and then locking the door.

“I think you better not leave me naked.” You grumbled, your heavy, stuttering voice filling the bathroom as Wanda sat you down on a random bench.

“You should thank us, if it were up to others to bathe you, they would hang you upside down and dunk you in the water.” Natasha grumbled, pulling your shirt up.

“But you guys are so adorable, wow.” You replied, watching her throw your shirt somewhere and you blushed slightly.

This was really happening. You were going to get naked in front of your two friends, if you could call it that. They were going to give you a bath without even having any other kind of intimacy with you beforehand. I mean, that was already pretty... advanced. But you were drunk and there was nothing you could do to stop it, and you should trust them, right?

“I… I think I need a bucket.” You coughed, covering your mouth with your hand and Natasha pulled away, grabbing the first thing that resembled a bucket, an abandoned pot under the sink. She threw some cleaning supplies out of it, leaving it free for you.

You grabbed the object and started to vomit, feeling your stomach violently expel what you had eaten in a whole day from the drink of the last few hours. Wanda covered her mouth and nose with one hand, but pressed your hair away from your face, carefully so that you wouldn't get any more dirty. Your stomach didn't stop until it was completely clear, and you gasped, your head falling back against the cold wall.

“I think you understand now that there are no benefits to getting so drunk on alcohol.” She whispered, carefully watching you as you let it all out.

“Forgetting is a benefit. Forgetting everything.” You mumbled, pressing your head against the cold wall and pushing the pot away, watching Natasha pick it up and start washing all that stinky dirt away.

“No more wasted conversation.” Natasha approached you, turned on the cold water under your head and brought her hands to your pants, bending down to remove the fabric along with all the rest of your clothes.

You moved your irises until you found Natasha's, who after undressing you completely, couldn't stop her eyes from being taken over by dark, dilated pupils. She knew you were looking, but she couldn't help but notice every detail of your body, every tiny scar, every bruise. And now you were naked in front of her and Wanda. She felt enchanted, as Wanda probably did. The greenish irises were mesmerized, astonished by such a wealth of perfect details, by the sculpture of your body. Wanda swallowed dryly, feigning naturalness as she gently rubbed a sponge with soft foam on your aching and bruised shoulders.

“If I hurt you, you can let me know.” Wanda said, breaking the slight silence that had formed and you barely moved your lips, allowing her to continue.

Natasha remained hidden in her silence, watching as Wanda removed the dirt and dust from her body, rubbing as carefully as possible on some bruises and cuts caused by today's mission. You kept your eyes on Natasha, you knew she was restless, thoughtful perhaps. But you also felt her gaze on you, on your face, your eyes, your collarbone, the bones of your shoulders, on every possible detail of your body. Yes, Natasha Romanoff really didn't know how to be discreet. You wondered what would happen if it were just her and you there, with the exception of Wanda.

“Let me get that bitter taste out of your mouth.” She whispered, grabbing a toothbrush with some toothpaste on it and leaning down close to your face.

You parted your lips slightly, feeling her brush your teeth carefully, so slowly that it could make you forget that you were naked in between them. Natasha leaned down a little more, and you tried not to look down but it was too late, you could tell that she was wearing a tank top without a bra. Suddenly, the drink had already fixed your vision suddenly. You were a pervert. But so was she. Fair enough.

“Wash your mouth out.” She instructed you, walking away with the toothbrush and you filled your mouth with water, yawning before spitting it all out.

“You’re quite an obedient baby, aren’t you?” Wanda teased, gently tugging your ear and you rolled your eyes.

“Sometimes, apparently, they are. Can you grab a towel and some clothes?” Natasha asked, turning off the shower and sighing when she saw that her shirt was wet. “Sure.”

“And my hair that you wet, young lady. Are you forgetting that?” You joked, seeing the ironic smile appear on Natasha’s lips, who calmly approached you again.

Natasha turned on the shower again, grabbing a bottle of shampoo and dispersing it on her fingers. She entered her fingers into your scalp, starting to wash slowly, trying to ignore that she was literally between your legs, so close that she could feel your now cool breath near her neck. The foam spread all over your hair and you brushed your hand against some of it, passing it on her nose.

“Goofy. You find this funny, huh?” She shook her head, lifting her hand and running it over your cheek, smearing foam on you. “I find this funny? I think you’re confusing me.”

Natasha frowned and shook her head, pulling yours forward slightly to remove all the excess shampoo. Her fingers were soothing, as peaceful as walking on clouds. And she didn't take her eyes off you. She opened another bottle and spread something on her fingers, then ruffled it through your hair and you felt the soft, cool texture, it was cozy. Natasha leaned in close, her nails scraping over the back of your neck as her breath covered yours, your faces closer than ever.

You didn't move an inch to get away from her, you couldn't even think straight. The mixture of alcohol floating in your blood and the confusion of events left you in an abyss of doubts. But you didn't need to reason or think too much now, not even Natasha. She brushed her lips over yours, a sure hand resting firmly on the back of your neck and the touch of her lips were like igniting a sensation you had never felt before.

“Towels, clothes. I don’t think anything’s missing. Or is it?” Wanda absently walked through the bathroom door once more, causing Natasha to pull away from you and subtly rub her fingers through your hair, removing the cream as calmly as possible.

“No Wanda, I appreciate it. That should be enough.” Natasha replied with a smile, as convincing as possible.

You both hoped that Wanda hadn't seen anything, but by heavens, she was the Scarlet Witch. That was enough to know that, if she hadn't noticed what you and Natasha were doing, she could tell by the rapid heartbeats of both of you, the goosebumps on your skin in contrast, waiting for another touch. Wanda was smarter than that to know that it was impossible for someone to fool her like that, but she would pretend to be stupid just to see how much you two would fall for it.

Natasha was, however, frustrated. She didn't want to be interrupted, of course not. If it hadn't happened, she would be all over you, kissing you like never before because an opportunity like this doesn't come so easily to her.

“You’ll sleep with us tonight, just in case something happens and you’re out of our reach-” Wanda shrugged her shoulders as Natasha rubbed the towel on your head slowly, trying to dry your wet hair.

You didn't even know they slept together until now. Or maybe you were just too drunk and tipsy to remember that detail.

“You guys are great babysitters, but I can take care of myself. Thank you.” You blew a kiss in the air.

You fixed the towel on top of your hair, forgetting to get another towel from Wanda and walked out of the bathroom. Completely naked, without clothes, with nothing to cover yourself! You whistled along the way, feeling a little better now that you had expelled more than ninety percent of the alcohol from your body, but still with a heavy head and blurred vision, and then you were pulled at the end of the hallway, grumbling when you felt a firm hand on your ear.

“I said I was fine, Grandma.” You grumbled as Natasha dragged you to the room she shared with Wanda, covering you as much as possible before anyone in the group saw you naked around the compound.

“If you call me grandma again I’ll make you swallow this towel.” She whispered and you laughed lightly, rubbing the towel. “Wow, Nat, you’re kind of a brute.”

“Y/n, please get dressed, it’s late at night and we can’t wake up the others anymore.” Wanda asked, leaving a change of clothes next to the bed.

“Okay.” You sighed, rubbing the towel over the rest of your body.

Natasha and Wanda exchanged a quick, brief glance. They understood each other, but they couldn't do anything about it, not when you were still half drunk and fragile. They could feel the heat emanating from your body, they couldn't even stop admiring the way you leaned forward and how your body only stood out more with a bunch of bruises covering it, the way you looked great even after having vomited probably half a bottle of pure alcohol. You were magnificent, mesmerizing, extremely fascinating and neither Wanda nor Natasha would dare to deny that.

Their skins burned for something, even anything, a touch, a slightest glance, a kiss. Natasha didn't feel perverted or anything like that, because she had the right to look and admire every part of your body like Wanda, looking wasn't wrong, was it? But she had to admit that the fact that she was on fire, restless, needy and with her breathing irregular was solely due to you and your natural effect of making her that way. Wanda felt the same way, with her hands restless, trembling, her teeth biting her lips every second, her body sensitive to the air environment (and to you being there for the first time), everything made her intimidated if it was about you.

“Okay. What’s up now?” You asked, finally dressed from head to toe, which you both mentally thanked for keeping so many dirty thoughts at bay at the same time.

“You can lie between us.” Wanda said the first thing that came to mind, quickly joining her bed with Natasha’s with her powers and Romanoff thanked her silently.

“Don’t think we’re stupid, the door is locked. So lie down and go to sleep.” Natasha said, glancing at the bed before entering her closet.

“Was she always this bossy?” You huffed, throwing yourself onto one of the beds and felt Wanda gently cover you with the blankets.

“Only when she’s right. Bedtime, Y/n. Sweet dreams.” Maximoff smiled and leaned down, giving you a kiss right on the corner of your mouth. And then she kissed you right on the lips. Which left you blushing and speechless.

“Good evening.” Natasha reappeared, a wine-colored blouse covering her, probably because the other one was damp.

You looked to both sides, seeing that you were still lying in between them. Natasha leaned over, turning off the lamp and leaving the room in deep darkness, and you sighed, feeling her head rest on your shoulder for a moment. Great, you were lying with your two friends. Wait, friends lie together in the same bed after kissing?

[sargebarnesx]

Long Distance ✈️

Pairing: Bob Floyd x female reader

Rating: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, MDNI

Warnings: Once again, smut with plot. Solo masturbation, mutual masturbation, FaceTime Sex, language. Bob has a filthy mouth.

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Bob Floyd is in a long distance relationship and can’t stand it. One night, something snaps.

Author's Note: Just a little something I wrote and edited today. Also, I know next to nothing about the inner workings of the military/Navy so please suspend your beliefs for a bit here 😂 Hope y'all enjoy! (Banner photos are from Pinterest)

FaceTime was a lifesaver when it came to long-distance relationships.

Bob Floyd had always told himself he would never do long distance - he didn’t think he could handle it. He wasn’t clingy, necessarily, but he preferred to see his girl multiple times a week (okay, okay, every day if possible).

Long distance just didn’t appeal to him. But when he fell for a fellow aviator, he knew it would be inevitable.

Their romance was a whirlwind. Shy at first, but once he finally kissed her, they didn’t hold back. She was at his apartment more often than her own. Sneaking around wasn’t ideal (not that they had to, they just wanted to keep things private), but that was the last thing on his mind when she was curled against him on his couch after a long day. He had never realized how nice it would be to have someone to come home to - someone who understood the weight of the responsibilities the mission carried - until he was with her.

She was one hell of a pilot: sharp as a tack and quick on her feet, a force to be reckoned with. But what really impressed Bob was the person she was outside of work. They quickly became a duo, a team - a picture of domesticity. She felt like home to him.

But, like clockwork, she was reassigned once their mission was complete, along with a handful of their other colleagues.

Two different coasts. Two different time zones. One couple slowly turning into two completely different people.

She was stationed in Pensacola while he stayed in San Diego, his orders extended rather than changed completely. They were beautiful areas with perfect beaches, and the Navy roots ran deep. But neither could quite sow seeds without the other.

Bob knew she was adjusting well after the move. She loved Florida - but she hated the time difference. Two hours might not seem like much to most people, but to them, it was challenging. She’d already been at work for several hours by the time he was waking up, which meant no good morning chats. He was usually able to catch her in the evening, when he was eating dinner and she was in the middle of her nighttime routine. But Bob didn’t always want to say goodnight at 7:30 p.m.

He wouldn’t admit it to her, but he was struggling.

He hadn’t seen her in months. Hadn’t kissed her. Hadn’t felt her skin beneath his hands. He was going crazy.

Sure, he had photos of her - videos, too - but nothing compared to the real thing. Waking up wrapped around her pillow instead of her left him disappointed every morning. And he didn’t even want to begin to try to compare her hands to his.

Around noon that day, just as he sat down with a sandwich for lunch, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Baby ✈️🩵

Unexpected day off tomorrow. FaceTime tonight?

Bob stared at his phone screen. An unexpected day off meant she could stay up later with him. She was usually very disciplined during the week, which he respected, but he hated the quiet of the night after they ended their call and she went to bed. At this point, though, he’d take what he could get.

He typed back a quick of course, baby before turning back to his lunch.

**********

That evening, when Bob trudged into his apartment, he was extremely tense. A lot of things had gone wrong for him today, which was unusual. He couldn’t concentrate on the tasks at hand - he was tripping over his own feet. He was so wired, it felt like he had jet fuel pumping through his veins.

He knew why he was like this. And he knew there was nothing he could do about it - at least, not yet.

She was all he’d been able to think about. He kept daydreaming about her, imagining seeing her in the hangar, her hair flowing free and her flight suit half unzipped.

It didn’t help his current state that, in his daydream, she was wearing absolutely nothing under her flight suit - and she ripped the zipper open as soon as she saw him.

He’d fantasized about bending her over, right then and there, and railing her like they had no other cares in the world. About how good her perfect pussy (one he hadn’t had in months) would feel wrapped around him. He was going insane.

After he washed up in the shower, he stared at the row of products she’d left behind when she shipped out: shampoo, conditioner, cream body wash, face wash, a body scrub. He grabbed the bottle of body wash and squeezed a dollop into his palm. He lathered it up, closed his eyes, and held his hands up to his nose.

It was like she was there with him - the overwhelming scent of coconut and vanilla enveloping him, affecting all of his senses. He could see her standing under the spray of water, her hair plastered to her body as soap streamed down her curves.

He wrapped his soapy hand around his cock, dragging it from base to tip over and over, his eyes scrunched so tightly shut he saw stars. Just as he was about to cum, his phone rang on the counter and snapped him out of his daze.

It had to be her. How long had he even been in here, wasting their time together? He quickly rinsed off and wrapped a towel around himself before reaching for his phone.

Her name lit up the screen - Missed FaceTime Call. He tapped her name to call back. The phone rang only once before she picked up.

“Hi,” she called out.

His phone was still facing the ceiling as he dried off. “Hi, baby. Sorry, I was in the shower. Let me pull on some shorts real quick.”

Bob hung up his towel and pulled on a pair of soft sweat shorts. He grabbed his phone and settled onto his bed, forgoing his glasses on the nightstand.

She was also on her bed, dressed in a light gray cropped tank and matching shorts. Her hair was damp, like she’d just finished a shower too. The sight of her made his chest ache.

She smiled when she saw him. “Hi,” she said again, laying back on her pillows. From this angle, he could see a flash of her stomach. He wanted nothing more than to have his hands on her.

“Hey, baby. You look cozy,” he replied, propping his phone against a pillow.

She nodded, leaning onto her fist. “Just wish you were here.”

Bob sighed. He didn’t mean to sound so dissatisfied. Just knowing they both longed to be together… he couldn’t wait until things were easier. He stretched an arm behind his head, his bicep flexing.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he admitted.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his through the screen. “Yeah?” she asked. “What about?”

He pressed his lips together, debating whether to tell her about his daydreams—his fantasies.

“Just all the things I miss about you. Having you in my bed. Seeing you on base. Coming home to you…” He paused. “And God, baby, I miss that perfect body underneath me.”

She watched him, then adjusted her phone again. His breath hitched when he noticed her hard nipples pressing against her thin tank top. He stretched his right hand down and palmed himself over his shorts.

“What would you do if I was there right now?” she asked, her fingers ghosting over her breast. “Please tell me.”

Bob groaned as he gripped his half-hard cock through his shorts. “Well, first,” he began, “I’d have my hands all over you. Gripping that ass. Pinching your nipples.” His hips bucked against his hand.

She nodded, and he could see her chest rising and falling as he spoke. “What else?” she asked.

“I’d kiss you. All over. I’d start with your lips, then your neck, then your chest. Then I’d suck on your nipples - I know how much you love that, baby. I’d kiss down your stomach, all the way down to-” He squeezed his cock, stifling a groan. “Fuck, I’d have my mouth on that pretty pussy so fast.”

“I’ve missed your mouth,” she whispered, her hand trailing down her body and out of frame.

“Are you about to touch yourself, baby?” Bob asked.

“Aren’t you?” she countered. Bob smirked.

“I am. Wanna see?”

She nodded, and he pushed his shorts down his legs, tossing them to the side. His dick was practically begging for her, and he fisted it before turning the camera around. He watched her face as she bit her lip, her own arm moving rhythmically.

“Fuck, Bobby. I need you. I miss the way you fill me up. Wish you could feel how wet you’ve made me.”

He stroked himself for her, slowly. She let out a soft moan, her eyes never leaving the screen.

“Take off your clothes, baby. Please,” Bob begged, his heart pounding.

She sat up, propping her phone against the headboard. When she came back into frame, he could see her whole body. She peeled her tank top off slowly, and he couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his throat when her tits were finally on display. She squeezed her breasts, groaning as she pinched and pulled at her nipples.

“Feels so much better when it’s your hands,” she whined. He stroked himself faster at that. She got on all fours before turning her back to the camera. Then she pushed her shorts down, arching her back as her glistening pussy filled his screen.

“Oh my-fucking…” His voice sounded strangled as he gripped his cock. He was a mess - moaning, whimpering, whining. But he couldn’t help it. He wanted her so bad.

She turned back around to face the camera, spreading her legs so he had a full view. Her fingers found her clit, pressing circles into it with one hand as she pinched her nipple with the other.

“Bobby, I miss you. Miss that cock. I can’t wait until you can fill me up again.” She plunged her fingers into her soaking wet hole. Bob could see just how wet she was - her slick pussy glistening in the low light of her bedroom.

“Next time I see you, I’m gonna be inside you before we even leave the airport.” Bob was fucking his hand now, his hips snapping up. “Gonna have you dripping for me again by the time we make it home. Then I’m gonna spend all night with my cock buried inside you… fucking made for me.”

His hips stuttered, and every sound she made sent a jolt of electricity through him. She adjusted her position, lying back so he could see her fully spread, her back arching off the bed. All for him.

“I’ve thought about you like this so many times,” she murmured, glancing over to watch him as she touched herself. “Thought about your cock in my hands, in my mouth… God, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve touched myself thinking about you fucking me, baby. Nothing compares to you.”

He could tell she was close by the way her thighs tensed. He clenched his fist around his length, gasping at the thought of her pussy squeezing him as he brought her to her orgasm.

“Just a little bit longer, baby,” he begged with a groan. “I’m so close - please, let’s cum together.”

He watched her eyes roll back as she adjusted her pressure. “I’m not sure how much longer I can-fuck!” She threw her head back with the most desperate whine Bob had ever heard.

“Oh, baby,” he panted. “I’m about to… I’m about to cum, baby. All for you, all for you, all for you.”

His hips continued to buck up into his fist as he shot his load all over his stomach. She was fully watching him now, biting her lip like she was remembering the last time she got to taste him - the last time she made him come undone like that.

Both of their chests were heaving, and for a while, the only sounds they could hear were deep, shallow breaths.

“I needed that,” he murmured finally. “God, I needed that.”

“Me too,” she agreed softly. “Definitely made a big mess, though.” When she picked up her phone, he could see the wet spot where she’d been before.

He chuckled, looking down at his own body. “We both did. Let’s get cleaned up.”

They did so in silence. Bob pulled on a clean pair of shorts, and he noticed she had changed into an oversized T-shirt - one of his. Once they were both back in their beds, Bob sighed.

“I miss you so much,” he said.

“I miss you too,” she replied. “And I love you. So much.”

Bob nodded, that familiar ache spreading in his chest. “I love you too.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I hope we can see each other soon.”

She was silent for a while. He just watched her - how she snuggled into her pillows under her plush comforter. “We will,” she reassured him. He wasn’t sure that was true, but he stayed silent anyway.

“Wanna stay on until we fall asleep?” she asked. Bob nodded, rolling onto his side. Her breathing had evened out - deep, slow, soft. His eyes felt heavy.

“Sweet dreams, Bobby,” was the last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep.

[sanjisblackasswife]

Caleb x Black Fem Reader

You confessed to Caleb while drunk and mentioned your unspoken night together.

Caleb takes care of you when you’re sick, when you’re having cramps, but he never thought he’d take care of you when you were—-

“I’m not drunk.”

“You are, Pips…”

This week haven’t been the best, college is kicking your ass, work is kicking your ass, your best friend Caleb haven’t been around as much as you want—-it’s stressful.

You usually don’t drink, a few glasses of wine is always enough, but after just BARELY passing your final exam knowing you studied your ass off all night made you just want to wash away your irritation, even if it’s for the night.

And if you might regret it in the morning.

Caleb always kept tabs on you, location and tracker on to know if you are ever in danger. Being the man that he is it wouldn’t surprise him if he did have enemies trying to hurt you. Though that wasn’t the case, he left his job early to come get you when he called and you chose not to answer.

“She just kept saying Caleb and drinking. Now she’s—“

“I got her. C’mon y/n…”

“CALEBBBBB!” Your face was warm, feeling nothing but bubbily and happy you throw your arms around him, and Caleb picks you up with one arm with ease bridal style and takes you to his car, “BYE GUYYYSSSS!”

You definitely going to be the topic of tomorrow’s work meeting between your coworkers.

Caleb never seen you this drunk, tipsy sure, but you were clearly not lucid. Eyelids lowered and you had a very sneaky subtle smile whenever you stared at him that made him feel a little suspicious as he buckled you up.

“You should have at least invited me.” The car was silent, you weren’t facing him anymore just mindlessly looking at the flashing lights of the city night, “If you’re going to drink you should be around me that way I can watch you.”

“Just watch?” You slowly blink at him, looking down at his pants you place your hand on his thigh, immediately causing him to tense up, he loved your touch, he melted everytime you even leaned on his shoulder but this wasn’t the time for that right now.

“Why not drink with me….?”

“Who would take us home? One of us has to be sober, stupid.”

“You’re stupid.” You weakly barked at him, your tone wasn’t malicious, but borderline hurt, “I’m only drinking because of you.”

Caleb’s heart sunk in a bit, making him adjust himself in his seat. He knew better than anybody why you were upset, he has been gone a lot lately, he feels terrible about it. Leaving you alone at his place or yours when he promises to spend the whole night with you.

“I’m sorry…I am. Tomorrow it’s just you and me okay? I promise.”

“…and what about tonight?”

“Tonight…I will be right with you. Making sure you don’t wake up with a hang over.”

“Tuh.” You laugh, looking back at the window, “I’m not even drunk. Tipsy perhaps.”

Caleb just laughed, still a bit stung from your words he continues to drive in silence until he takes you back home, and carries you to your room.

“Here. Do you need help taking your clothes off?”

You stared at him, examined his features. Was it you or was he finer than usual?

You looked like a little puppy, tilting your head at him, Caleb would be a liar if he didn’t admit you were so cute right now, but his main mission was to get you back sober. Just enough to prevent a headache.

But you made it difficult.

“Take my clothes off…sir.”

Your tall, usually composed friend would have given you a little snarky remark back, but he seen from the look in your eye, you weren’t feeling a bit different than usual.

Almost similar to that one night.

Your curls were all over the place like that night, you bit your lip the same like that night, they way you smiled at him was like that night—-even the tension in the room when he approached you.

Ignoring your comment he begins with your top, sliding it off you as gentle as he could to prevent hurting you, that’s when you landed on your back in the bed, squirming a little without breaking contact with Caleb’s darker purple eyes. “Now pants.”

He made sure you were okay with unbuttoning your bottoms and you nodded, “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable okay? Please.”

“I’m never uncomfortable with you, Cay…”

His big doe eyes looked up at you, a tinge of worry came about, but when you noticed it you smiled at him to cup his cheek, “I’m okay Caleb…I promise. Go ahead.”

He sighs softly in relief, you’re intoxicated, but not enough to not make decisions for yourself. And you wanted to reassure him of that.

Especially for what you wanted to ask him.

When he took off your pants you wiggled your legs, still looking at his broad back and slim waist as he searches for you a shirt to wear with dilated eyes,

“Let’s recreate night we shared did after graduation.”

You seen his entire body tense up, he looked at you through your vanity mirror with widened eyes, a look of shock almost, “I thought—-Y/N i thought we swore not to…talk about that night.”

Caleb tried laughing it off, as much as he’s trying to put you off right now, he wouldn’t dare do anything with you after drinking. He wants you again, but not like this.

“I’m not drunk Cay.” You sit up, walking towards him to hug his back, “I know what I said. I know what I’m doing…I want —need you again.”

His knuckles turned white from how tightly he held your shirt, not saying anything due to being too tongue tied, his mind already remembering that night like it was yesterday you continued, “I need to feel you again….feel you on top of me. Kissing me. Holding me. It’s been years, but I still think about every minute of that night….and how you felt….”

You place your forehead on the center of his back as if it’s his own forehead and , inhaled his natural scent ,

“Inside me.”

With the quickness he turned around and held your cheeks, his eyes searched yours as if he was trying to find confirmation. You can see it in his expression he was conflicted. whether to kiss you or stop you from speaking. Though he believes you know what you’re saying he had to deny you of this one thing. Just for tonight.

“If…any other time you’ve said this….I ….I would’ve said yes. But for now…I need your undivided attention and consent to what you’re asking me….okay? “

“So you don’t want me.”

“I want you as bad as i breathe.” He immediately responded assertively and confidently, “but I’m telling you no now because I don’t think you’re in the right state of mind…..you understand?”

His thumb caresses you, falling sleepy into his touch alone you kiss his palm and nod, he was right. Though you felt more than confident to say yes and no, it may just be that liquid courage making you feel bolder.

Caleb exhales and smiles, putting you on your pjs for the night and putting you to bed, he went to the kitchen to clear his mind and bring you some water and aspirin.

He thinks about the night you took each others virginities everyday, but since that night you both just never spoke about it again. He always hoped you want to talk about it, and hopefully in the morning you do.

[hanyaksha]

The wrong name in the dark

MINORS DNI

AGED UP TOKITO TWINS

"So," he said finally, voice light and awfully calm. "This is what you do when I'm not around?"

Summary: Tonight, in the haze of dim candlelight...you walk into the wrong room. How could you have messed up? Now was the worst time that you had mistaken Muichiro for his twin. A sin far too late to come undone.

Once again, they are AGED-UP. I don't need angry mobs; if you don't like it, I politely ask for you to carry on.

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

GENRE: Fluff, light angst nothing crazy, eventual smut, fem reader

A quiet evening, paper lanterns flicker through the silent corridors, the night no longer young. The crickets chirp outside; the polished wooden floors slowly echo the sounds of your footsteps.

You just got home from a girls' night out with Mitsuri, still tipsy from all the sake she kept ordering. You lost count of the number of times you vomited and had way too much fun in the local izakaya you and the love hashira frequented. Admittedly, all that talk about romance made your heart swell with appreciation for none other than Muichiro, who was often seen as cold and distant to others, but clearly smitten by you. You had no idea how you got him, and you thank the heavens every day that fate flipped a coin and decided you were the perfect pair.

So tonight, despite being high on liquor, you set out on a plan to surprise him in his bedroom. Putting on the prettiest burgundy silk robe, you made sure to let your hair down, the waves of it hugging the curves of your body, just the way he likes it. With hazy eyes you reached for the vanilla-scented perfume and sprayed it on the parts you're sure he'll get a whiff of. Muichiro loves you most naturally, but he's not the type to refuse a dolled-up version of you either. Even better. He always says.

You slid open the door quietly, holding on to the doorframe to keep yourself from falling tipsy.

His silhouette was there, quiet, facing the window, his long, dark, and teal colored hair trailing over his shoulders in a way that made your heart flutter. 

"You're later than usual," you whispered.

No response, just a slow turn, a half-nod. That was all the permission you needed.

The faint burn of the sake still laced your blood, softening your limbs, making the world dip and sway every now and then. You moved toward him, clumsy but certain, and he caught you by the wrist - just as he always did, guiding you closer to him with that quiet gravity only he had.

"Missed you," you murmured into his neck as your arms slid around him.

His skin was warm. His scent, slightly different, spiced with something unfamiliar - maybe from his recent mission? your head was spinning too much to notice. Or care.

His breath was shallow, sharp. His hands didn't wander at first. He hesitated. That should have told you something. But in your liquor-laced daze, you mistook restraint for control. How stupid.

You kissed him.

He let you.

And when your crimson polished nails tugged at the tie of his yukata, he exhaled. Low and sudden, like a dam breaking.

"You feel different tonight," he murmured, his voice softer than usual, slightly rougher too. A little less wind, a little more flame.

You blinked against the haze of your mind, smiling lazily. "Do I?"

He didn't answer. His hands finally found your waist, then your back. A touch that lingered - unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. You were too far gone to question it. Too used to surrendering control to him.

But something in you paused.

The way his lips grazed your collarbone felt...off. Or the way his fingers trembled slightly before touching you. He never trembled.

"Mui?" you asked softly, not quite pulling away from his embrace.

A breath. Then:

"That's not my name."

Your world snapped still.

The door slid open.

Cold air spilled in from the hall - and with it, him. Oh god, him.

Muichiro stood at the threshold, his pale teal eyes locked on yours, his expression like carved ice.

He didn't blink, didn't flinch.

His gaze shifted once, to the hands around your waist, to the disheveled fabric of the yukata, then slowly, deliberately, back to your face.

Silence.

Your lips parted, but no sound came. Not even your drunken state of mind could shield you now. It was all clear as day. Like a bucket of ice came pouring down on you.

And the worst part?

You still hadn't moved.

Neither had Yuichiro.

Trapped between them. Between mistake and meaning. Between breath and the consequence that was now standing in the doorway.

Muichiro stepped inside without a word, sliding the door shut behind him with an almost polite quietness.

The sound of it clicking into place rang louder than it should have.

"So," he said finally, voice light and awfully calm. "This is what you do when I'm not around?"

You scrambled to sit upright, blood rushing to your face as the weight of the moment crushed you. "I-I didn't know. I thought it was-"

"Me?" he finished for you, his head tilting.

His tone wasn't angry. Not yet.

It was worse.

Coldly amused.

Yuichiro shifted behind you, finally finding his voice. "I didn't lie," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "She came to me."

"You didn't stop her," Muichiro replied, calm as blade ready to draw. "You let her say my name with your mouth on her skin."

Yuichiro stood then, slowly adjusting his yukata. "Maybe that's something you should have been more careful of, little brother. You've always been too trusting."

A quiet laugh. Muichiro smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

"No," he said softly. "I've always been too forgiving."

He took a step closer. You could feel the tension coil in the room like biwa strings ready to snap.

"I always had a feeling you'd try something," Muichiro said, his eyes never leaving his brother's. "The way you watched her when you thought I wasn't looking. You're predictable, Yuichiro. To think I turned a blind eye to that."

"Then maybe you should've taken better care of what you claim to love so much," Yuichiro snapped back.

That was when it cracked, the last shred of calm façade on Muichiro's face slipped, replaced by something sharper - possessiveness.

He looked at you intently, and for a moment, the anger flickered - only to be swallowed whole by something more profound.

"She's not yours to touch," he said, voice low and quiet, almost reverent.

"You always acted like you were above it all," Yuichiro muttered, voice rougher now. "Like you didn't care. Why bother now?"

Muichiro's expression twisted - just slightly. "Because she's mine."

"Yours?" Yuichiro scoffed, stepping forward. "She didn't even know who she was touching. Doesn't sound like she's yours, Muichiro. Sounds like it could've been anyone's."

A sharp stillness cut the air.

You saw it in your lover's eyes - the dangerous shift. A flicker of hurt. Then ice.

"You think I don't see through you?" he said quietly, venom laced in every syllable. "You've always hated being second. You couldn't stand that I was chosen before you. That she looked at me first."

Yuichiro's fist clenched. "I was trying to protect her from your detachment. You're so damn distant and busy with your missions you don't even see when someone's falling apart for you."

"And you thought seducing her would fix that?"

"She came to me!"

"You didn't stop her."

Yuichiro's chest rose with short, angry breaths. "Don't act like you're so innocent in this. You disappear. You leave her at night when she needs warmth. Maybe if you held her more often, she wouldn't have reached for what was available."

"She doesn't need available," Muichiro snapped, voice hardening. "She needs loyalty. Something I don't expect you to understand."

“You’re not angry because I touched her. You’re angry because she let me.”

Muichiro stepped forward again, closer than before, so close their foreheads touched.

Their words clashed like swords, cutting, furious, and merciless. 

You couldn't breathe. You've always wanted them to get along, seeing them hurt each other like this was agonizing.

The heat from their anger surrounded you like fire, and you weren't sure if it was the liquor or the guilt of the sharp edge of heartbreak that finally made your chest cave in.

"Stop..." you said, barely louder than a whisper.

Neither of them heard you.

"Stop, please," you repeated, voice cracking now.

But they were still at each other's throats, too consumed in the push and pull of their years-old resentment to notice you.

Until the first sob slipped from your throat.

You covered your mouth with trembling fingers, shoulders shaking as the tears came, messy, sudden, and humiliating. 

That silence? That deadly silence from earlier?

It returned - but it was different now.

Both brothers froze.

"Hey-" Muichiro was the first to move, rushing to you, his anger folding on itself like ice thawing out. "No...don't-"

Yuichiro followed, a breath caught in his throat, the hardness in his expression melting as his eyes locked on your tear-streaked face.

"Shit. I didn't mean to make you cry," he muttered, reaching out but unsure if he was even allowed to.

You didn't recoil. Didn't move at all.

"You're both...so loud," you whispered, your voice running low. "Like I'm not even here. Like I'm just a prize for you to win."

The words landed like stones.

Muichiro's jaw clenched, then loosened. "You're not a prize, sweetheart. I never saw you that way."

Yuichiro's tone dropped too, quiet and rough. "Neither did I. I just...lost myself. In the way you looked at him. In the way I wanted you to look at me."

"Then why didn't you say it?"

"Because," Yuichiro said, eyes lingering on yours, "I didn't think I'd get the chance. Not with him in the way."

The air between the three of you buzzed, not with rage, but with regret. With need, with all the things left unspoken pressing in dangerously close.

Muichiro was still close, his fingers brushing your cheek, wiping away a tear. "I'm not mad at you. You shouldn't be crying. Not for us. Not tonight."

"Then stop fighting," you murmured. "Just...stop."

His touch lingered, softer now, his eyes tracing every inch of your damp face.

Yuichiro stepped closer too, slower this time. The warmth of his hand brushed your wrist, gentle and hesitant.

They looked at each other before looking at you.

"Let us make it up to you," Muichiro said quietly, voice deeper than before. "We'll...take care of you. The way we should have."

Yuichiro added, "If you'll let us."

Eventual smut next part.

Will update and link it to this post ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

I upload more on my AO3 here! come drop by!

[kyokutsu-sama]

My little warrior| Sanemi x f!reader

Plot: Sanemi had to go on another mission because he had been called by the master to carry it out. What he didn't expect was to be surprised when he returned home.

A/n: I can only imagine Sanemi's hot-headed personality being completely melted away and replaced by tears when he holds his beautiful baby girl in his arms for the first time🥹🤏

(Crying in daddy issues😭😭)

Tw: pregnancy, labour

🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤

It was almost time for you and Sanemi to see your little one come into the world. He was speechless when you told him (Although sooner or later he would know it was going to happen, given the little secret adventures after missions or when he came home after a rough day).

He didn't know how to deal with the news at first, and given his childhood, he was afraid that one day he might repeat the same actions as his father. However, you talked to him and promised that you would always be by his side and that you would both teach each other how to take care of this child that was about to be born.

In the first few months, everything seemed fine and you were still able to do many of your daily activities, although he always kept an eye on you just to make sure you didn't get hurt and didn't end up hurting the baby. He was already overprotective of you before and now that he found out you were carrying something that was also his, he became even more protective. Sometimes you stopped to think and thought it was cute how he took care of you with such delicacy. Something rare in him.

All the other hashiras congratulated you on the news. Shinobu made sure to take care of you and do regular checkups so that everything would go well and the little one would be born healthy.

Sanemi liked to lay his head on your lap so he could be next to your belly and listen to his daughter's heartbeat. He also like to caress your belly and the day he felt the first kick he was surprised.

"Hey brat! Don't kick your mother! Are you trying to get out of there or something?You could have hurt her." He playfully scolded the girl as if she could hear him and you just giggled

"Don't listen to him, that just tickled me."You said, caressing the part that was kicked

It was all these little things that made you both more and more captivated by the whole process. It turns out that in the last few weeks you had been having some difficulty with mobility, doing some things that you could do before but that now you got tired more quickly. Sanemi, like a gentleman, made a point of carrying you. Sometimes you felt a little insecure because you seemed a little heavier now, but he thought you were light as a feather. Besides, this man was physically strong as hell and carrying the weight of his family was now his job.

You already missed putting one foot on the ground, but he always carried you everywhere around the house.

"Sanemi, I'm pregnant, not disabled, I can walk by myself, you know?" You said, trying to convince him, but he was too stubborn and that was nothing new to anyone

"And why don't you shut up and let me deal with this, huh?" He replied and you just rolled your eyes

That night, you were sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard as you watched your husband dressing his uniform to go out on another mission.

He was a little nervous and had only one goal in mind: to get home alive for his wife and his little girl.

When he finished, he seat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand over your belly and then kissed you with his usual intensity.

"I'm leaving now, but I'll be back soon, okay?" He held your hand and looked you in the eyes as if that were his promise

"I know, I believe in you and your strength. You still have a little one waiting for you too." You looked at your belly with a little smile

"Yes, and after her, I'll still have many more waiting for me." He said and you looked at him with a questioning look

"What do you mean by that?"

"That I want to live long enough to give her more siblings. She won't be the only one." Sanemi bent down and planted a kiss on your belly. "Daddy's coming soon, take care of your mom, okay? My little brat."

"You're already quite advanced, I see." You giggled. "Well, then I'll be happy to carry her siblings too." You smiled at him

He then kissed your forehead and gave a smiled, something that was very rare in him and that even you didn't see very often, but when it happened, your heart filled with happiness knowing that he was happy too.

He left the room and went to do his duty as Hashira.

You thought Mitsuri would come that night since it was her or Shinobu who usually came to keep you company when Sanemi was away. Even Tengen's wives would often visit you to take care of you and the house, so you wouldn't have to work hard. So it was practically a girls' night when Sanemi went out. Deep down he thanked them for being there with you when he was away, he felt safer knowing that you were protected and accompanied. But since no one was visiting you that night you decided to read something to pass the time since you still didn't feel sleepy.

You seemed so absorbed in reading that the strong contraction caught you by surprise and made you writhe in pain. You instinctively put the book down and hugged your belly to try to ease the pain. You removed the blanket that covered your legs and saw the wet sheet underneath due to the breaking of the waters and knew that at that moment your girl wanted to come out.

"Oh girl... You caught mom by surprise now." You said, trying to get up but still in pain. A sharp pain that was new to you.

"Is Y/n asleep already?" Misturi asked Shinobu as the two approached your house

"I don't know, but she's probably on her way to falling asleep since she gets tired more easily now." Shinobu replied

"I think so, but I also think she'll gave birth to a very cute little girl. I'll love holding her." Misturi said, excitedly at the thought and Shinobu smiled before knocking on the door

You heard the front door and immediately thought it was someone coming to check on you, but you didn't think you had the strength to walk to the door and open it since you were in so much pain at that moment. You moaned in pain and felt tears fall, running down your face.

"She's taking so long. Maybe she's really sleeping." Shinobu guessed

"Maybe she's really tired." Misturi said

"Help!!" You shouted and both of them looked at the door after hearing your voice

"It looks Y/n's voice!" Shinobu looked up to where your voice was coming from

"Yes, she needs us."

"But with the door lock, how are we going to get to her?"

"Okay, I know Y/n and Sanemi won't like this, but I have to do it." Mitsuri took a deep breath before kicking the door open to enter your house. "Come." She invited Shinobu who was surprised by her friend's action

She entered right after her and went upstairs to your room where you were, sitting on the bed.

"Y/n!! Are you okay?" Shinobu came close to you holding your hand

"Y/n! is it now that she will be born?"Misturi asked completely distressed to see you like this

"Yes...please... It hurts so much." You cried

"Mitsuri, help me here, we have to take her to the butterfly mansion. We can't do this here." Shinobu asked and Mitsuri quickly went to her to help carry you

You leaned on the two of them and went with them to the mansion

"Well, it looks like that's all for tonight. We managed to sort things out and I don't think they'll be back here any time soon." Obanai said, looking around the abandoned ruin where he and Sanemi had annihilated the demons

"I thought the mission would never end. Tch! They called me here because of these weak idiots who weren't even good enough to warm up. How embarrassing!" Sanemi put down his sword and sat down a bit

"You seem a little tense and it's not because you're tired, is it? You're not even sweating." Obanai looked at him and his friend looked away

"I'm going to be a father soon, of course I can't be calm." Sanemi said, his nervousness already on edge

"I see, why don't you go back home then? I'll take care of this here and justify the rest to the master. Go back home, Y/n needs you more than we do."Obanai suggested and Sanemi just let out a long sigh

"Yeah, maybe that's what I'll do. Even though she's probably already asleep by now. It's pretty late and I'm still a long way away." The Wind Hashira got up and said goodbye to his friend before heading back

Sanemi was arriving home when he came across the broken door and it didn't take long for his heart to start beating faster and his body to shiver. All he could think about was the idea of ​​a demon having entered there and that he had hurt you along with his baby and that made him run inside the house. Just the thought made him horrified.

"No...It can't be..."He muttered, starting to lose control of his breathing

He ran to the bedroom but all he could see were the disheveled sheets and a stain. He knew immediately that you were giving birth and that you had probably been taken to the mansion. At least one side of his heart was relieved to know that you were alive, but on the other side he needed to run to where you were so he could be with you at that moment.

He ran out of the house and only stopped when he reached the butterfly mansion. When Aoi saw him outside, she ran to him, anxious, and told him what was happening.

"Mr. Shinazugawa... your wife... you need to come quickly. She needs you." Aoi said

"Where is she?!" He asked completely distressed

"Come with me." She ran inside to take him there and he followed her

As soon as the Hashira entered the room and saw you lying down, crying and screaming, he went to you.

"Y/n!" He held your hand and you looked at him, sobbing and grabbing his hand to release the pain. "I'm here...I'm here with you, everything will be fine."

"Sanemi..."You called his name through your tears, grateful that he was there by your side encouraging you

"Come on Y/n, it's almost there." Shinobu said.

"You can do it, love. You're strong, you're so strong. I know you can do this." Sanemi encouraged

After that painful moment and after so much blood, sweat, tears and screams, she was born.

You could barely feel your body after all that struggle to bring your daughter into the world. Your body was sweaty, exhausted and numb. Your breathing was irregular and your eyes were still wet from the amount of tears you'd shed.

Aoi arrived with the towels and Shinobu took one to wipe the little girl's blood. She was born without any problems, she was healthy and she was crying while they cleaned her.

"Shinobu..." You called in a low, tired voice and she looked at you. "Let me hold her." You held out your arms and she promptly placed the little girl in your hands

You cried with joy at seeing her for the first time. She seemed to be the perfect mix of you and Sanemi.

"I love her so much. My little girl." You kissed the little girl's forehead."Our girl is beautiful, isn't she?" You looked at Sanemi but he didn't seem to be listening to anything

He was just focused on the image in front of him. His eyes quickly filled with tears and just fell to his knees next to the bed. He start crying with joy and pride for the birth of his daughter and for you for being the little one's mother. He was so proud of your strength at that moment.

"Y/n... She's so..." Sanemi could only reach out his arms to reach her and you handed her over

He picked her up in his arms. She looked so tiny, so fragile and so innocent. That scene reminded him of when he used to hold his baby sisters in his arms, since he was the older brother and the one who took care of them.

But this one was his, made by him. Part of him. His little one, his little warrior. He was so proud of you being able to bring such a perfect being like her to this world.

You looked at the scene of him holding his daughter in his arms and realized that this was probably one of the rare occasions you had seen him cry. That scene was a true contrast between someone so innocent and soft and someone brutally strong whose innocence was taken away from him too early. Sanemi would do anything to protect his little girl.

"Look at her Y/n, she's so pretty, she looks just like you." He looked at you with a smile and teary eyes

"But she inherited your white hair."You ran your fingertips through the little girl's thin white strands of hair

"Well, that means she'll be strong like me and beautiful like her mother." He said, caressing her head with the greatest care, seeing her slightly squirming in his hands. "My little one, I love you so much."

The door opened and you looked up to face Mitsuri, her eyes filled with tears as she saw your newborn daughter. She was so happy that everything had gone well.

"Y/n, can I hold your daughter please?" Misturi asked as she approached you

"Of course."

She held out her arms and, still a little reluctant, Sanemi handed her over.

"She's so cute. How pretty you are, little one." Mitsuri gave the little girl a good number of kisses on her little chubby cheeks. "Does she have a name yet?"

"No. I was a little undecided about what to call her, but Sanemi had told me before that he already had a name for her. What did you decide?" You looked at him and he seemed a little downcast

"I was thinking of naming her...Shizu. If you agree too." He said and you thought about it for a moment, but in a matter of seconds you realized it

His mother's name... The person he loved so much and who unfortunately had such a cruel ending.

That would probably be a way to honor her and you were sure that his mother would be proud of her son and her beautiful newborn granddaughter.

You saw a tear fall from his eye and ran your thumb over his face, wiping it away. He looked at you and you gave him an encouraging smile.

"It's a beautiful name, I agree. Our daughter will be called Shizu." You stroked his hair, combing his bangs. He gave you a little smile, happy that you had also agreed with his idea.

Mitsuri returned the little girl to his hands and the way his eyes sparkled was something that captivated you. The sparkle that was missing was now there in his gaze, which was also softer than you had ever seen.

"Oh, and by the way, I'm sorry for breaking down your door. It was locked, and when Shinobu and I heard Y/n screaming for help, I just wanted to get to her as quickly as possible so we could help her." Misturi explained the broken door to your house."You probably thought someone had come in to hurt her, and I'm sorry for that."

You hadn't talked to her about it before since you were not in a position to do so, but now that you thought about it, it didn't really matter since your daughter was there, healthy and breathing

"It's okay, we'll take care of it later. At least now I know nothing bad happened to them." Sanemi said, and Mitsuri was relieved to know that neither of them had a problem with that

"I'm glad everything's okay."

"Yes, I can't wait to go home with her." You said."But if I get pregnant again, I'll never lock the doors at night again." You said and Mitsuri and Shinobu laughed

"I think that would be a good idea." Shinobu said

[lemonade4wanda]

Sniffle any louder

Natasha Romanoff x reader

Minors dni!! Masterlist°•☆

Summary - when you show up to work il lit aggravates Natasha that is until she sees your dire state

Warnings - mention of illness, nonsexual nudity, hurt comfort, as usual not proofread

Word count - 2k

A/n - I started rushing at the end because I wanted to have it out by tonight so the ending might not be as good srry

Fractures of pain shot through your aching body like icicles as you left the team meeting. God how you wished you'd just admitted you were ill this morning instead of letting your pride get in the way and pretended to the team that you were right as rain. I guess that's what happens when your on a team with literal super soldiers, you too start believing your above any illness or injury. Oh, but how wrong you realised you were when this flu hit you like a ton of bricks. The combined migraine alongside with the distrsssing chill of your bones left little energy left for you to do anything except lie down and rest, which you hated to admit and wouldn't ever given the choice, despite how sickly you'd begun to look.

Your usual bright eyes full of life and wonder became dull and bloodshot from the lack of sleep your blocked nose had caused you the previous night when you chose to ignore it. The skin on your face that was often painted a rosy colour now paled almost deathly looking, comparable to that of a ghost. Your unshakable senses, often remarked as some of the best had become overworked and dulled from the sickness using up all your remaining energy causing you not to notice people around you until they had begun to speak. The gravelly gasping and choking noises that spluttered from your inflamed throat were foreign to your usual bubbly voice.

Despite these stark and clear changes in not only your physical appearance but also how you carried yourself around the compound you had tricked yourself, somehow, into the belief no one around you would notice. Obviously you were unwell anyone could see that from a mile off and if you didn't think out of a house full of spies, enhanced beings and military personnel that not one of them would pick up on something up with you then you must have been seriously down with something.

Unlucky for you someone did notice after your sniffling had interupted their train of thought for the seventh time, it didn't take a genuis but she'd been ignoring the signs since you arrived. Natasha Romanoff had been trying to reread and correct a badly written mission report written by an incompetent intern. This had already been stressful enough for her without the woman next to her trying to desperately through her blocked nose instead of just going home. The first time she actually noticed something was up was when you nearly walked into the door, stumbling around like bambi on ice. This was something someone with your spacial awareness and high senses would never manage to do if they were as okay as they were telling everyone they were. She spotted it again when you began to cough like a smoker and at that like someone who smoked at least five packs a day, a thing she knew you were not. You'd told her a while back that despite your bad habits which were endless and definitely on show today that you never wanted to smoke because it reminded you of your mother. So unless you'd switched up on that which she very much doubted and had taken up chain smoking the answer was clear; you were ill, very ill.

She also questioned why you were even here, how you were even here. Natasha would leap at the first chance to avoid these dull meetings even if it meant admitting illness to the rest of the group. She'd actually faked being ill before to skip debriefs and instead head to the gym. At one point she had no clue how you were even still able to be alive and functioning with how shallow your breaths were. Everytime your mouth opened a disgusting noise alike to the disgust she felt at nails on a chalk board rung from deep in your throat. Aswell your ever scratcher voice that was beginning to drive her insane. It was one thing to come in sick, it was another to make yourself more ill by working harder than usual.

This had made her angry more than anything, angry at your selflessness. Angry no one else would ever do this, including herself. Angry you put working above your own physical health. Angry that you'd risk everyone else getting ill instead of taking a sick day. Angry you couldnt just admit your illness and leave.

Your eighth sniffle really sent Natasha over the edge as she turned to look dead at you and gave you a menacingly dirty look. A scowl that could kill glowering into your soul. Yet in feverly state you could hardly even register the spy looking in your direction as you still tried to process something said in conversation several minutes ago. Throughout the rest of the meeting she sideyed, scowled, gritted teeth, frowned, muttered under breath and cursed in your direction much to you ignorance. On an average day you could recognise what emotion someone was going through just by being in the same room as them and the tone of their breath but right now even with Natasha directly next you, practically right in your face you couldn't pick up a single negative emotion.

After the meeting you quickly stumbled in the direction of your room, hoping to avoid anyone on the way there, which you managed with much ease despite your worsening condition. Once you reached your room you shut the door without bothering with the lock. Stripped to your underwear and crawled back into bed without a sound. Curling up under your soft thick duvets you shivered and slowly cried yourself into a feverish slumber.

Natasha stayed behind to finish her reports, which she easily could have done hours ago without your incessant coughing and sniffling and all round ill noises. It only infuriated her more as she worked quickly, alone and welcoming the silence since the end of the meeting. When she finished up the work she was just about ready to give you a piece of her mind. And thats what she was gonna do. She had strong feelings about you prioritisation of work over wellness and she was gonna share them with you whether you wanted to hear or not.

Easily, she threw open your door and it hit the wall with a bang, enraged she didnt notice your crumpled whimpering figure writhing under the duvet.

"Sniffle a little louder next meeting." She comments loudly and sarcastically before instantly wincing at the sight of you in the bed.

Instantly her whole demeanour changes into one of care and pure unhidden worry. Natasha crouched over your trembling figure on the bed. Quickly she removed the pile of blankets from overtop and pressed a palm to your forhead before just as swiftly pulling it away with a frown. You were boiling 38°c at the very least and yet your body was still shivering. Without thinking twice Natasha knew the best thing for you was a cold, very cold shower.

She carried your somehow still sleeping figure easily into the bathroom as if you were no more than a light weight to her, which you probably were considering her max dead lift. Gently and ever so carefully she sat you down in the bath before turning the cool shower on next to you. Adjusting it so the water pressure was lower than usual so that it maybe less of a shock for when you fully woke.

Soon after the water began to flow your eyes opened to the hazy view before you. Natasha knelt over the bath making sure you were just alright. When you noticed the water and the bath, definitely not where you fall asleep you began to panic. Quickly flailing much like a fish out of water. Thrashing to get out the bath and attempting to scrabble to your feet. Natasha noticed your sudden frenzy and much quicker than you could, grabbed a hold of your hands halting your movements while whispering affirming words to you.

"Shh sh its okay. Your just in the bath, don't worry were just trying to soothe your fever." She begins to rub your palms slowly in a way which soothes you and instantly slows your panic as you go to rest your head on the bathroom wall.

"Hm don't do that darling. Try and stay awake while your in the bath, just for now." She's says quietly afraid to worsen the headache you already had as she coaxes your head off the wall. "That's it good girl. You can do this."

Her small praises would have usually annoyed you and felt almost condescending but right now they were almost enough to make you smile. She was making you feel as if your feeble attempts to stay conscious were really doing anything.

"M' so tired." You mumbled out a response that slumped together into your mouth so it was barely understandable to Natasha yet she still smiled and nodded at you, not wanting you to feel any worse than you already did.

"That's okay sweet girl, the sooner we get you out the bath and some medicine down you the sooner you can sleep." All the while she kept rubbing at your hands and fingers to keep you grounded in the moment. "I'm going to find you some fresh clothes just stay here."

You nodded but the minute Natasha left your head flopped back against the wall as if magnetised towards it. Upon her return with fresh clothes Natasha tutted.

"You really aren't well, are you?" A small attempt at a nod on your part did not surprise her one bit. "See if you told someone earlier we wouldn't be here right now. You have to ask for help when you need it." She knew her words meant little to you in your current state but she wanted to start bedding them in now nonetheless.

"Now, do you need help getting dressed? There's no shame in needing the help."

"Uhm.. I think a bit." Your response was croaky and your voice was beginning to sound worse by the second.

"That's okay, I'll help you then." She gives you a hand getting out the bath and holds you upright as she helps fully undress you. In her panic to get you in the bath she hadn't thought to remove what you were wearing.

You weren't insecure about your body but something like this would usually not be on with you. But right now you knew you couldn't refuse the help Natasha was offering as you could barely even stand still yourself. So begrudgingly you allowed her to undo your bra and slip off your underwear before tossing them in the bath saying something about getting them to the wash later. Putting on the fresh clothes was easier than either of you anticipated as you didn't resist and her strength helped you from falling against the cold tile floor.

Natasha helped you hobble back towards your bed which you instantly fell against ready to embrace sleep again.

"Ah. Not so quick, first the medicine then sleep." She said softly handing you first a couple pills and some water. "For your headache." Begrudgingly you took them and Natasha smiled as she saw the look of grimace on your face finding it both amusing and adorable. "Okay sweet girl just the syrup left, this will help for your throat." You stared at the syrup in your hand with a frown. Just the smell of its contents was enough to make you dry heave and its colour wasn't tempting either. After two minutes of more convincing and praise you managed to stomach it, not all of it but enough so Natasha was happy enough to stop bothering you.

You knew after that you could finally emmerse yourself in a blissful slumber and with little care curled up, face pressing into Natasha who watched over you as you slept making sure nothing interupted your much needed rest.

Tags: @wandasfifthwife @yanaromanov @idkwhatever580 @stayevildarling